


The Stars in Tenebrae

by Lagerstatte



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Gaping, Angst, Breeding Kink, Extremely Underage, Grooming, Hole Training, Intercrural Sex, Knotting, M/M, Male Lactation, Medical Examination, Rape, Sex Slavery, Sex Toys, Spanking, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-05-31 13:02:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15119954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lagerstatte/pseuds/Lagerstatte
Summary: Four days before Ignis' twelfth birthday, he was legally declared omega.On Ignis' twelfth birthday, he was submitted for application to be Regis Lucis Caelum's omega bonded. The documents, including those signed by a doctor confirming valid consummation, were processed and approved the following morning.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gooseberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooseberry/gifts).



> Hot damn, Recip, did your prompts speak to me <3 I can only hope this fic brings you as much joy as you've given me!
> 
> With all my thanks to Morbane, who read over this and helped immensely with feedback. That said, SPaG errors are all mine, and any concrit would be much appreciated!

Ignis was eleven years old (and fifty-one weeks, Noct said proudly, as if Ignis' approaching birthday was somehow his doing); the Citadel was warm and dry, and Ignis tried not to let himself get distracted from lessons by watching the winter rain run down the outside of the window.  
  
It was still raining when Silvia, Ignis' primary tutor, arrived just at the end of the day to announce that she would be taking Ignis to the clinic.  
  
Ignis nodded as packed up his books and pens, and silently followed her down the corridor, up stairs and through doors and down yet more corridors, to the clinic.  
  
'We'll be done in about two hours,' she told him as they sat in the waiting room: clean, white, plastic, and, other than them, empty. Ignis nodded. She didn't like it when he didn't respond. 'I'll just be a check-up today.'  
  
'Does my uncle know I'm here?' Ignis asked, and nodded again but didn't particularly listen to the answer – Silvia had that tone of voice where she was speaking to him as a child, instead of a student or employee of the Crown, and was therefore invariably saying something meaningless, a pacifying nothingness of words. And, Ignis knew, whether his uncle was aware of him being at the clinic or not, it wasn't as if he could do anything about it now. He left his phone in his room, because none of his tutors liked to see him use it even it if were between lessons, not during them. Noct was similarly parted from his phone during the day. It was probable, too, that he'd be home before his uncle even if he spent hours at the clinic.

Well, it wasn't as if his uncle would be angry, he told himself. And he was with Silvia. His uncle just didn't like him being gone for long times unexpectedly, or wandering about the Citadel on his own, even when he knew exactly where he was going and hadn't got lost in ages. So there was no reason to worry.  
  
But it was also true that his uncle had never liked Ignis going to the clinic.  
  
While they waited, Ignis stared at the wall in front of him, decorated with a picture of trees and water. He thought instead about how he'd been to clinic more than ten times in the last year – for blood tests, fitness checks, and two ultrasound scans with the probe pushed up his bum while he'd lain curled on his side on the table.  
  
They'd had to wash him out first, with a bag of water hung up next to the table.  
  
The nurse opened the door to call him in, and he hoped it wasn't going to be another scan.  
  
It wasn't, just more of the same standard tests as always – weight, height, blood pressure, heart rate, x-rays, peeing into a cup so they could test it for something. Ignis sat on the bed to have his blood taken and watched it bubble into the syringe, no longer squeamish as he had been the first few times, or ticklish the times after that. Silvia had been sitting on the other side of the room, rapidly typing something on her phone, but now she was out again, in the office next door. She'd told him months ago that everyone had to have checkups at the clinic – that as a growing boy they needed to be extra aware of his body and health in order to grow up properly.  
  
The nurse didn't like to look at him in the face. Ignis didn't speak to many other boys his age, or girls, but of those he had none had been to the clinic this much – except one, Asper, and she'd broken her arm and some ribs in an accident. And even then she'd only been several times, not once a month or more, like he had.  
  
'Are you sure?' Silvia's voice was distant, but reacting to her voice was a matter of long habit, now. Ignis lifted his head, aware of how the nurse in turn shifted to look at him. Ignis let his head dip back down but he didn't stop listening.  
  
'This is ridiculous,' Silvia said.  
  
'For this one I'm going to need to you take off your shirt and lie down, Ignis,' the nurse said. Ignis nodded, took off his shirt, and scooted back so he could lie on his back on the bed.  
  
He could still hear Silvia in the doctor's office, talking with, he assumed, the doctor. Ignis wanted to turn his head, tell the nurse to stop breathing so loud; instead he kept his face straight and didn't squirm when the nurse moved something grey and plastic over his belly. He ignored that and tried to listen as hard as he could. The gel they'd smeared on him was cold, making his skin prickle.  
  
'I'm sorry,' the doctor was saying, 'but these things will only ever be estimates.' Her voice was even but with a hard edge, the sort that made Ignis' stomach drop even though she clearly wasn't speaking to him.  
  
'Induce it, then,' Silvia said.  
  
'I–'  
  
The nurse sighed, rather loudly, and took away the plastic thing. 'There we are,' he said, blocking out the sound of the conversation, and smiled down at Ignis. 'Let's get that cleaned up, then you're all ready to go. You must have had a long day, huh.'  
  
Ignis nodded, though he wished he'd been allowed to listen to the rest of the conversation. He let himself be wiped down, not letting himself squirm or otherwise betray that he'd much prefer to do it himself.  
  
Silvia was there in the waiting room; she said nothing as she saw him and walked out. Ignis followed, trotting to catch up.  
  
As he was walked to his uncle's apartments, back along the route he definitely knew by now, he wondered if he was dying. Or perhaps he was just very ill. Maybe they weren't sure if he was going to die from his illness? He felt fine, but... sick people went to the clinic, he knew. And surely the sicker you were, the more often you had to go.

They got back to his uncle's suite, and Silvia talked with his uncle while Ignis went to have a shower. She was gone by the time he finished, dressing himself in his home clothes and spiking his hair up so it would dry right. The unusual afternoon moved smoothly into a completely standard evening, with his uncle not making any recognition of his visit to the clinic or Silvia's presence. He smiled at Ignis and asked what he'd been learning, asked him how much homework he had and whether he'd done it or not, then wandered back into his study.  
  
Ignis set about to cook dinner for himself – he was learning to cook, he'd been having lessons recently, every Saturday morning and Monday evening. His uncle rarely cooked – he ordered food, or went out to eat, or ate snacks and salads that didn't need preparing. Ignis didn't much _like_ cooking, at least not in itself. It was messy and sometimes went wrong for no reason he could tell, and it was embarrassing when he had to explain the ruined pastry or curdled sauce in the bin. But he wanted to do it, because that way he could get good at it, and cook for Noct as well as himself. He wanted to make all the beautiful and delicious dishes the Citadel chefs made. He wanted to be _good_ at it.

After dinner he cleaned the kitchen, did his homework and gymnastics stretches, and wondered what Silvia wanted to induce. He chatted with Noct over text on his phone – about Noct's lessons and the annoying things his tutors did, and a new film that had come out that Ignis was tying to persuade Noct to see, and what style spectacles Ignis should get next time he needed to get new spectacles. They played a little of the co-op game they'd both downloaded, completing a couple of minor quests, even though it was then past Noct's bedtime. They said goodnight, and Ignis was about to go get ready for bed himself when his uncle called him over. He was sitting at the dining table and nodded to the chair opposite him, pulled out and empty.

'It's your birthday soon,' he said, almost before Ignis had even sat down, and his tone of voice made Ignis too wary to do much more than nod. Sitting together at the dining table meant something serious. Ignis sat with his hands under his thighs, because he felt like he might fidget, and fidgeting was worse than sitting on his hands. His uncle had his hands on the table, clasped together. He hesitated, then said, 'Was there anything you wanted to do?'  
  
'Noct wants to go to the aquarium.'  
  
'Ah,' his uncle said, slowly. 'It's your birthday. What about you?'  
  
Ignis looked at him carefully. This wasn't much like his uncle; usually his uncle was direct. He didn't dance around talking about things like other people did. Visiting the clinic this afternoon had been an unpleasant shift in routine; he'd thought he'd had his routine back, and the realisation that he had to give it up yet again was worse than if he hadn't had it back in the first place. 'The aquarium,' Ignis said – then added, even though he didn't think he had to, but maybe he did – 'please.'  
  
His uncle smiled at him, wrinkles around his eyes and mouth deepening. There was still something off, and Ignis wanted to squirm in his seat. He almost took his hands out from under his thighs but caught himself just in time. 'You don't need to persuade me,' his uncle said. 'I just thought there might be something else you would prefer.'  
  
'No,' Ignis said. 'May I go to my room, now? I have homework.'  
  
'One moment, please. Have you asked anyone whether Noctis will be able to join you at the aquarium?'  
  
'Noct said he'd ask his King Regis.' Ignis squinted at the woodgrain of the table, and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. 'I was going to ask you when he said it was okay.'  
  
A faint breath of laughter, dying quickly, strangled. 'Ah. Very well. You certainly have my permission, and I'll take you and Noctis if no one else can.'  
  
That really wasn't like his uncle. Ignis risked a glance up at him. The thought that he was dying came back suddenly and made him feel ill, like his stomach was squirming inside him.  
  
Ignis' uncle looked at him. Ignis could see it, sort of, as he stared down at the table and his uncle's hands. 'Ignis,' his uncle said, 'I–'  
  
He didn't finish. Ignis didn't know what to say, how to continue this conversation that he didn't understand at all. He didn't like it. He liked certainty, and being good at things, and knowing he was good at things. He liked Noct, because he understood Noct, and he knew he could make Noct happy. And, more importantly, when Noct was happy it was like there was a connection direct between them, a line of emotion, because when Noct was happy Ignis was happy too, in a way nothing else made him.  
  
'Can I go to my room, please?' he said again, because there was a tension in the room that made him nervous, made his hands want to fidget and feet kick against the legs of his chair, and he knew he oughtn't do those things.  
  
'Yes, but one moment,' his uncle said, oddly fast. 'It's technically your birthday present, but I – I don't think I'll be there for your birthday, so I thought I'd give it to you now.'  
  
He must have planned it, because the present in question was in his briefcase, by his feet. A neatly wrapped cuboid: a book, fairly obviously – large, hardback, so a book with illustrations of some kind. Ignis remembered he'd mentioned astronomy to his uncle, because Noct had talked about seeing the stars when he'd been recovering from the daemon attack, two years ago. Because Noct had admitted, in a small voice, when they were curled up in bed together, that he was forgetting what the stars looked like. What they really, truly, were, not just images online, light shows, blobs of paint on a canvas, which was all he could get in Insomnia.  
  
Stars – real stars. The concept was somewhat abstract. Ignis had watched documentaries with Noct, gone with him to art galleries and the planetarium, but Noct had said it just wasn't the same, and they'd both gone home disappointed. Ignis had, since then, been torn by the frustrated urge to do something – if his first desire to sneak Noct out of Insomnia was unrealistic, then he had to do something else, something Noct couldn't get from the TV or planetarium or internet. But what else? The only thing he could think of was to study them, so he could teach Noct, because for all his tutors Noct still listened to Ignis best, and learnt from Ignis best. And if Noct learnt about the stars then surely he'd be able to remember them better – for what they truly were, not just the imitations put on show.  
  
Ignis wished he could do better. He wanted, more than anything, to do better. He wanted to bring Noct all the stars in the sky.  
  
Ignis hadn't told his uncle anything other than being interested in stars, because what Noct told him was private, and what he did for Noct was private. But he rarely told his uncle about being interested in anything – largely because outside of Noct he really wasn't interested in anything much – so it was unsurprising his uncle had picked up on this.

So: an illustrated book on astronomy. Probably. It was either that or a cookery book, and Ignis felt fairly confident that it wasn't. His uncle didn't care much about cooking, so he seemed unlikely to give it much care even in relation to Ignis and Ignis' birthday.

A book on astronomy, and the stars. Ignis felt a flush of warmth, the swell and curl of being pleased, because he'd been using a book out of the library but it didn't have very good illustrations – not enough to keep Noct entertained, anyway. And there were others, but they were for kids, or ones with even fewer or worse illustrations. And then there were the ones he hadn't been allowed to take out of the library at all. He could have got Noct to ask for one of his choosing, but that would mean there would be Noct's governess involved, and Ignis didn't want her involved at all. He knew she'd made a big fuss and then it wouldn't be his and Noct's thing any more, a secret whispered late at night. It'd become public information, another extra-curricular class of Noct's that the papers would write articles about and coo over, and Noct would lose all interest of it within weeks.  
  
'Thank you,' Ignis said, holding the wrapped present. He smiled, broad, honest, forgetting for a moment his previous unhappiness.  
  
'You may,' Ignis' uncle said, hesitated, then carried on: 'you may open it now, if you wish. I know that's not how it's done, but I'd like to see you... see it.'  
  
Oh. Ignis looked at the red wrapping paper, textured with straight lines, abstract patterns. His smile slowly dropped away, but he dipped his head so his uncle couldn't see.  
  
Just receiving the present early – unusual but not so wrong. Opening it? He really couldn't think of any reason for this except that he was dying.  
  
Without saying anything he opened his present, carefully breaking the tape rather than tearing the paper, and pulled the book out.  
  
It was on astronomy. _The Celestial Menagerie_ , it was called, and had a photo of the night sky on the cover. Flicking through it, Ignis saw there were no pictures of animals stuck onto the constellations like some of children's books at the library, which he was silently thankful for. There were photographs or diagrams of different astronomical bodies and descriptions of them, both scientific and based on myth. There was a chapter on constellations and how they differed depending on what country you were in, and what they represented. There were some drawings of animals, but they weren't childish, and Ignis knew Noct would appreciate them anyway.  
  
'Thank you,' he said again, and hoped as he smiled up at his uncle that he'd live long enough to be able to finish reading it with Noct.  
  
The next day, after lessons, Silvia took him back to the clinic. They gave him two injections, one in each arm, but that was it, and then he was free.  
  
Back in his room he got into his home clothes and lay down on his bed, just for a moment. From his window he could see the corner of a Citadel building, one of the ones he didn't go in and had little idea of what was inside. Then he got up, dragging himself to his feet. He was tired, and had been all day. He'd been unable to fall asleep the previous night, and then he'd starting reading his new book out of frustrated boredom. His eyes itched, and he'd been scolded by his mathematics tutor for not paying proper attention. He still picked up his feet to trot down the corridor to Noct's room, book held in his arms, where he knew Noct was waiting for him. With the visit to the clinic it meant he was going to be twenty minutes late. Noct wouldn't care much – probably wouldn't even notice – but it bothered Ignis.  
  
Noct was curled on his sofa. The TV was on but he was on his phone, tapping away at it with vague disinterest. He didn't look up when Ignis opened the door and shuffled in.  
  
'Noct,' Ignis said, and Noct looked up. His frown broke into a small, easy smile, and Ignis felt his heart melt and break and fall in love all at once.  
  
'Dad's acting weird,' Noct said, later, after Ignis had turned off the TV and burrowed down beside Noct on the sofa. He hadn't shown Noct the book yet. He wanted to show him when he'd be the happiest.  
  
'How so?'  
  
'Dunno. He just...' Noct shrugged. 'He just was.'  
  
'Maybe he was still thinking about work things.'  
  
'Maybe,' Noct said, clearly doubtful. 'He was... he got them to cook my favourite food, and said I was doing really well in lessons even though I know I'm not.'  
  
'I'm sure he wouldn't say it if he didn't think it was true,' Ignis said, and forcibly pushed away the sudden, tight, horrifying thought that it was Noct who was ill, who'd die soon. No, he told himself, that didn't make sense. It was still a dull, beating horror in the pit of his stomach.  
  
Noct made a small noise, not really listening. 'He just kept being weird and all – forced nice. I mean, it was great then, but now I can't stop thinking about it.'  
  
It hurt that Regis being nice to Noct was something unusual enough that Noct picked up on it as something abnormal and unpleasant. Ignis shifted to move a little closer, their sides pressed together, Noct's folded legs lying half on top of Ignis'.  
  
'Maybe he realised he'd been distant recently and was trying to make up for it.'  
  
'Maybe,' Noct said, and let his head lean to the side and rest on Ignis' shoulder. 'Whatever. What've you got? You had something when you came in.'  
  
Ignis accepted the change in conversation, happy to have a distraction from the thought of Noct in the clinic, in hospital, pale and still and stuck all over with tubes. He reached over and grabbed his book, stretching to try reach it without jostling Noct from his place. 'Look,' he said, 'my uncle got it for me.'  
  
'Cool.' Noct's voice was firmly appreciative, and he leant forwards to grab the book from Ignis' lap. 'Oh, yeah, and dad said we could go to the aquarium.' He said it like an afterthought, like he hadn't had to worry about it, as he reached down and flicked through the pages to find the chapter on constellations.  
  
'That's good. And look, it has the ones they use in Tenebrae,' Ignis said, feeling at once pride as he watched Noct read, eyes wide with interest, and a sudden prickling defensiveness – he hadn't realised the book had so much information on Tenebrae specifically. Had his uncle bought it then because he'd figured out that it was Noct who'd wanted to know more about the stars, and he'd learnt from his time in Tenebrae? Ignis didn't want his uncle to know that much. That was his and Noct's secret.  
  
Never mind, he told himself. Noct was happy and that was good enough. And he trusted his uncle, more or less, not to go around telling everyone of Noct's love for the stars in Tenebrae.  
  
They were still looking at the book, Noct pointing out which ones he remembered and Ignis listening to him talk as he learned the stars, and learning the Lucian names for them – or that they seemed not to exist in Lucis at all. 'I don't get it,' Noct said, 'how can it not exist in Lucis? Luna showed them to me. They're stars. They don't change if you go from Lucis to Tenebrae, do they?'  
  
'They're constellations,' Ignis said. 'They... they're not actually things in the stars. The stars stay the same, but the constellations are just patterns people find in them. Like if we looked at clouds and you saw one thing and I saw another, even though it's the same cloud.'  
  
'Oh,' Noct said, and frowned. Ignis sat there and tried to think of a better way to explain it, but couldn't.  
  
At six, Noct's governess knocked on the door to call them to dinner, coming in after Noct called out a careless, 'Yeah.'  
  
They ate together in one of the nearby private antechambers, Noct spilling his noodle broth on the table as he reached over to give Ignis his vegetables. Ignis frowned at him, playful, and Noct laughed and stuck out his tongue.  
  
The vegetables were delicious, but Noct's laughter infinitely better.  
  
By eight Ignis had finished helping Noct with his homework. When Noct's governess came back at nine, the same polite knock, her same mild cheerfulness, they were sat at the TV, playing Noct's latest game.  
  
'Bed-time,' she said.  
  
Noct sighed and wriggled in place. He was tired, or he'd make much of a bigger protest, Ignis thought, even though his bedtime was always nine o'clock. 'Ten minutes?'  
  
'I'm afraid not. Come on, up we get.'  
  
'Can Ignis stay?'  
  
Noct's governess glanced at him. 'If you don't have anywhere to be,' she said, which was what she said every time. 'But only for a little while, not overnight.'  
  
'I don't have to be home yet,' Ignis said, which is what he said every time, and sat there and pretended to read as Noct was bustled up and into the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash. He thought that they didn't really need Noct's governess, that maybe if next time he got Noct to wash and get changed and be in bed by the time she arrived, she'd go away straight away and wouldn't bother them at all. That would be nice.  
  
When Noct went into his bedroom to get changed, Ignis slipped into the bathroom where he brushed his teeth with the toothbrush he'd put there a few months ago, and got changed into the pyjamas he kept in the towel cupboard. Noct's governess didn't raise her eyebrows at him like she had to begin with, and he slipped into Noct's bed beside him without comment.  
  
Noct sighed, half tired, half content, and rolled over to sling an arm over Ignis' waist and bury his face in Ignis' shoulder. They waited until Noct's governess was out of his rooms entirely before starting to speak again.  
  
'Looking forward to going to the aquarium?' Ignis said, fighting his eyes closing, since he knew he couldn't fall asleep and spend the night, no matter how much he wanted to.  
  
Noct made a humming noise, a tired, pleased confirmation. 'Yeah. They did up one of the tanks since we last went. The Galahd Sea one.'  
  
'What's in it?'  
  
'Sharks,' Noct said. 'Five different kinds. Grey sharks and squid sharks and, um, water coeurls, Galahd sharks, and also night-sky fish.'  
  
'Night-sky fish?' Ignis already knew what they were, but he was fairly sure Noct didn't know that.  
  
'Yeah!' Noct tensed up a little in his excitement, voice losing its sleepy edge. 'They're called that because they're black with white dots, and they live in the volcanic sand, which is black. They ambush their prey, and they can fit, dunno, I think it's like prey a third of their own body size into their mouths. They're called fish because they don't really look like sharks, not normal ones anyway, though sharks are fish so it kind of works any way.'  
  
'Do you think they'll have the volcanic sand in the tank? If they do we might not be able to see them.'  
  
'Huh. I dunno. We'll probably be able to see them anyway, right? They wouldn't have fish you can't see.'  
  
'Maybe they're just saying they have them and they're really well hidden,' Ignis said, 'but actually there's nothing there.'  
  
Noct giggled. 'That's stupid,' he said.  
  
His arm was a heavy, warm weight on Ignis. His breathing was audible, and stirred the hair on the side of Ignis' head.  
  
'Six days,' Noct said. 'Can't wait.'  
  
'Me neither,' Ignis said. He wouldn't die before then, right? He didn't feel ill.  
  
Later, when Noct had drifted off to sleep, Ignis slipped out of bed, got dressed back into his shirt and trousers, and made his way through the Citadel corridors back to his room, in his uncle's suite. The lights were all off; his uncle was out, though Ignis didn't know where. He was usually back from work by now, but perhaps he'd done to dinner or drinks with people, friends of colleagues. Ignis poured himself some fruit juice, then sat down at his desk to do his homework.


	2. Chapter 2

The following day went by like any other. Ignis went to his lessons – mathematics, science, and politics in the morning, and double geology, literature, and history in the afternoon – and visited Noct afterwards to read more of _The Celestial Menagerie_ and do Noct's homework and play games. Noct didn't mention his father again, and Ignis didn't pry. Then Ignis went back home after Noct had fallen asleep to do his own homework. His uncle was out again, and didn't get back before Ignis went to sleep.

The day after that Ignis woke flushed, queasy, light-headed when he finally worked himself into sitting up. _Oh_ , he thought. His belly hurt, low, aching, hot, like he'd been kicked. He crept into the bathroom to take a couple of painkillers, then went and made himself some breakfast – toast, because he didn't think he could manage anything else, either to cook or eat. The apartment was still empty, but his uncle had been home, Ignis noted with some relief, seeing the coffee pot by the sink.  
  
Ignis sat at the table, his food in front of him, and squeezed shut his eyes.  
  
He had to get ready to go to his lessons – he was already behind, going to be late if he didn't hurry – but he felt dizzy. He was sweating even in his loose pyjamas, feeling way too hot, burning up. But he had to go – he couldn't be late.  
  
Deserting his breakfast he went back to the bathroom, but his insides felt like soup, like there was a stick tangled up inside his belly and whenever he moved his insides twisted up around it even more than they were already. Ignis gulped for air and crouched down beside the bath, pressing his face into his knees. He thought he was going to throw up. He hoped he wasn't; he hated throwing up, the idea of it horrifying, enough to make him feel even worse than he already was. Breathing slow and deep wasn't working. Neither was hard and fast, shallow pants that he knew were bad for him but couldn't stop. He was going to be late for his lessons. He couldn't seem to get enough air. His throat felt like someone had wrapped their hands around it and were squeezing. This was dying, wasn't it? His heart was beating wildly, his hands shaking. The floor seemed to be spinning beneath him, twisting and sweeping like a fairground ride. He couldn't breathe. His pants were coming in now in tight, gasping sobs, forcing their way out through his gritted teeth, whistling in his noise.  
  
He wanted Noct. He wanted his uncle, but he knew neither of them were close and no one would hear him if he tried shouting for them, and he was sure he'd throw up if he opened his mouth anyway. He was going to die here on the bathroom floor, and his uncle would come back and find his body and Noct would ask where he was and–  
  
The roar in his ears was loud enough he didn't hear the knock on the bathroom door. He felt the footsteps through the vibrations in his bare feet, and for a wildly hopeful second thought it was his uncle. He forced his eyes open and glanced up.  
  
It was Silvia.  
  
'There you are,' she said. 'When you didn't turn up for your lesson I got worried. You're not feeling very well, are you?'  
  
_I think I'm dying_ , Ignis wanted to say, but couldn't. He shook his head then hunched down even further when the motion just made him feel even more sick. His breath through his nose was tight, scraping, not enough. The hands around his throat tightened.  
  
'Let's get you to the clinic, then.'  
  
She grasped his upper arm and tugged him up, and Ignis stumbled after her as she pulled him from the bathroom. He still couldn't breathe, couldn't open his mouth or he'd be sick. He didn't want to die; he didn't want to go to the clinic. He wanted his uncle with him instead. He wanted to not be dying. 'Come on, stop being dramatic, Ignis,' Silvia said, and Ignis covered his face with his hands to try smother the way he was sobbing.  
  
She got him into his clothes and handed him a handkerchief to wipe his face with. 'So you won't look a complete mess to anyone who might see you,' she said, and the briskness of her tone was, at least, soothing. It let him cling to it, to the orders, step by step. Then she put her hand on his upper back and lead him out of his uncle's suite and down the corridor, all the way to the clinic. He was still sobbing, his stomach still hurt, but at least he didn't think he was going to be sick.  
  
Inside the clinic the nurse got him to sit down on the bed. 'Tell me what's wrong,' he said, and Ignis hesitated. Over the ten minutes it had taken to walk there from his uncle's suite his breathing had calmed, and the absolute certainty that he'd been dying no longer gripped him. He still felt too hot, and swampy, his insides churning and skin far too sensitive. His face, he could tell without being able to look at it, was blotchy red. But the panic had passed, he could breathe again, and his head and the floor no longer span.  
  
'I feel hot,' he said, and looked at his knees. 'My... stomach feels weird. Low, down here.' He put a hand on his belly, between his hips.  
  
'Weird in what way?'  
  
Ignis stopped himself from picking at his trousers, and put his hands under his thighs instead. He didn't really know how to answer that question. 'It hurts, a bit. It mostly... feels like I'm melting on the inside. I don't know. I'm not sure.'  
  
'Ah,' the nurse said. 'Ignis, would you might taking off your clothes for me and lying down on the bed? I'm sure you're fine, but I just need to check something.'  
  
Ignis' stomach dropped, with nothing to do with feeling ill; whenever he had to take clothes off in the clinic it was always embarrassing, and uncomfortable, and left him feeling like a bird that had been handled too much and got its feathers sticky and greasy and stroked up all the wrong way. He nodded and got up anyway, without a word, and started to undress. At least Silvia was outside the room, and after a moment the nurse went too. Ignis folded up his shirt and trousers, putting them with his underwear on the end of the bed. He clambered up onto the bed, feeling the hard frame beneath the thin mattress, to sat there, hands covering between his legs. He waited.  
  
The nurse came back in without knocking, and one of the doctors came in with him. Ignis had been flushed red already, from the embarrassment of his nakedness as well as earlier, the sobs and panting for breath. Heat was already burning off his skin, but he felt sure he'd turned even brighter. He hated being exposed, being examined, having the doctors and nurses talk to each other over his head as he sat there, naked. His eyes prickled, threatening to start crying again, and he blinked hard to try drive the tears away.  
  
'On your stomach, please?'  
  
Ignis clambered onto his knees then lay down, head on his forearms.  
  
'I'm going to touch your thighs; is that all right?'  
  
The hands, cool and rubbery in their thin gloves, were gently pulling apart his legs even as he nodded, jerkily, rubbing his face onto the soft skin of his forearms. He let them move him, tried to push away the urge to clamp his legs shut as they were spread wide open. Then a hand gently pulled one cheek of his bum to the side, exposing him, and something smooth, thin, blunt, pressed up against his hole and pushed in. A finger, then something else. Ignis felt himself clench down around it, and his legs twitch, and his hips grind down into the mattress to try escape it.  
  
Then the finger and other thing were gone, and the hand gone, and the nurse said: 'All done now, you can put your clothes back on.'  
  
Ignis' hands shook as he fumbled with his underwear, sliding them on, still feeling the intrusion inside him, the hands on him. There was the clack as the nurse put his gloves in the bin and shut the lid. Ignis looked at the corner of the room, the lines of the floorboards as they met the wall, the skirting board, and pulled on the rest of his clothes.  
  
He was left with Silvia. He sat down because she told him to, not because he wanted to, because he could still feel something touching inside him and sitting down only seemed to make it harder to ignore. He felt worse than before, stomach churning, and now it felt like he was wet – like the nurse's finger had been slick with something, and wiped it off on him. He could feel it smeared on his skin, imagine it trickle out of him and into his underwear. Soak through his underwear, and his trousers, and leave a wet patch on the seat.  
  
The nurse came back into the room. He glanced at Silvia, and they shared a look. Then he knelt down in front of Ignis.  
  
'This might come as a surprise to you,' he said, 'but what we found is that you're not ill at all. As it turns out, you're omega, and this is your presentation.'  
  
'Oh,' Ignis said, and couldn't think of anything else. His brain scraped to a halt. Omega. He knew the term, of course, but only abstractly, two pages in his science text book.  
  
'That's excellent news! You're perfectly healthy, though because this is your first presentation you might be in a little discomfort for a few days. You should head back home, make yourself comfortable. We'll send someone over this afternoon, a specialist, to talk about it with you and answer any of your questions. Don't worry, until this passes, you just need to rest.'  
  
'But I have lessons,' Ignis said, and then shut his mouth, aware of how stupid he sounded.  
  
The nurse smiled. 'Don't worry about your lessons. You can continue them soon.'  
  
He knew he shouldn't argue any more. He looked down and nodded.  
  
'There's a good boy,' the nurse said, and stood. 'Silvia here can walk you home. She'll talk to your uncle for you, tell him what he needs to know. Make sure you go to bed and rest – no reading, no playing games, and certainly no homework.'  
  
'All right,' Ignis said, but the words cracked and barely came out at all.  
  
Silvia took him home, like she always did. She walked Ignis inside, coming in behind him without a word as Ignis' uncle opened the door to let him in. She ushered him into his bedroom, pushing him inside and closing the door behind him. Ignis felt a spark of something – anger, perhaps – at her presumptuousness, but his uncle hadn't stopped her. The door was shut behind him, and Ignis waited for his uncle to open it again, to put on his stern voice and tell Silvia that this wasn't her house, that she couldn't just walk in and do what she wanted.

His stomach hurt. He could feel something wet between his legs, but he didn't want to go to the bathroom, because that would mean having to leave his room and potentially face Silvia, if she hadn't already left. Ignis' uncle still hadn't told Silvia to go away. Were they talking in the study, where Ignis couldn't hear them? Ignis sat down at his desk and waited and waited. He could hear quiet voices if he listened very hard.  
  
He curled over, bringing his legs up and trying to breathe deeply, ease away the pain, but it didn't help.  
  
An hour later his uncle knocked on his bedroom door. 'I need to get back to work,' he said. His voice was hoarse. Perhaps he was getting sick, a cold. 'You'll be all right until I get home? There's a person coming to talk with you about – about being omega, so if there's someone at the door please make sure you answer it.'  
  
'Okay,' Ignis said, from where he was lying on the bed, like the nurse had told him to do. His earlier disappointment, cold and crushing, made him stare at the wall opposite him rather than look at his uncle, even though that was rude.  
  
Instead of leaving, his uncle hesitated in the doorway. 'If – if you're feeling up for it, we could go somewhere tonight, for dinner. I'll let you decide where.'  
  
Ignis cast him a sideways look. He wasn't hungry. He couldn't think of many things he'd prefer less than having to sit down in a restaurant and behave properly all evening. He felt ill, and sitting upright hurt. He still felt uncomfortably wet even though he'd tentatively stuck his hands down his underwear earlier and found himself not wet at all. But maybe he'd started to leak since then.  
  
'Okay,' he said again, because he wanted his uncle to stop staring at him, and go away so Ignis could finally go to the bathroom.  
  
It was about three in the afternoon when he heard a knock on the door, short and sharp and professional. He opened it to let in a short woman with brown-blond hair and an expression that kept changing, her mouth flickering between serene and cheerful and blank. She introduced herself as Tristitia; Ignis decided within minutes that he absolutely sure her smiles and friendliness were fake. Her eyes watered, and were red, and she kept rubbing them. She smelt of perfume and waterless hand sanitiser.

She sat down on the sofa next to him and told him that omegas were very, very rare, less than one in a hundred thousand. She gave him a printed copy from a textbook that showed alpha and omega reproductive organs for both men and women, and talked them over. She told him that now he'd presented he would produce something called vaginal lubrication, or slick as it was commonly called in male omegas, which allowed for easier penetration during sex. She said production would increase on his heats, which was when he was fertile, and that it was nothing to worry about, but if he was concerned about excess production he should talk to a nurse at the clinic, or her, whomever he was most comfortable with. She asked if he was experiencing anything like that now, and Ignis had shaken his head and said nothing.

After a moment, she carried on. She told him his sperm would be infertile, so he could not have children through impregnating women or other omega men, but he could carry and birth children for alphas, either male or female.

Ignis said he didn't know any alphas, except for the king, and Tristitia had carried on as if she hadn't heard him. Then she paused and sent him a long look through her wet eyes. He mouth, at that point, was a long, flat line. 'I'm sure you'll meet lots more people,' she said, 'as you grow older. And, you know,' she added, then stopped.

'Know what?'

Tristitia shook her head. 'No, nothing.'

'Know what?' Ignis said again, because now she wasn't looking at him at all. He didn't really want to know what she'd meant to say; he mostly wished she hadn't bothered with the platitude at all. He wasn't sure why – couldn't pin down the exact reason – but it had only made him feel worse. He wanted to know what she'd been about to say anyway.

'Oh, just,' she said, 'children aren't everything. But of course in a few years you may change your mind.'

She's smiled and asked him if he had any questions or thoughts he wanted to share. 'It's a big thing to discover about yourself,' she told him. Ignis shook his head and didn't say anything, and closed himself up until she'd left. Then he went into his room and searched _omega_ online.

The first result was a standard encyclopedia-style definition, and gave him nothing but the same textbook information Tristitia had told him. After that he found a forum that advertised itself as a support group, but he couldn't enter because he needed an account to do that. Then the next few results were porn, and that made him feel uncomfortable and dirty. He turned the computer off.

In the evening, after his uncle had got home from work, he held to his word and took Ignis out for dinner. They went to a grilled meat place that was nearby, because Ignis knew his uncle didn't like grilled meat and wanted to see if he'd truly meant it when he said Ignis could decide. Then he spent the rest of the meal feeling guilty because his uncle didn't like the food, which meant he couldn't enjoy the meal himself. He forced himself to eat anyway, because he wanted his uncle to think he was having a good time even though he wasn't, because it was obvious his uncle was trying to do something nice for him.

Because he was omega. The word hung over him, clung to him like wet clothes. What did it even mean, anyway? What would Noct say?

All the next day his stomach cramped, but it was fine, because it was Saturday and he was only missing a couple of lessons, geography and politics, not like on a full week day. He felt hot, dizzy, and too weak to push away Tristitia's hand when she laid it on his forehead. When had she arrived? He hadn't noticed.

'Oh dear,' she said. 'Here, take this.'

She handed him a little white pill and a glass of water. 'Don't worry,' she said. 'This is your first heat. The others after this will be much easier.'

He wanted to tell her to go away, but he knew that was rude and would only make her angry and not go away besides. He was sweating, sticking to the sheets, feeling heat radiate off his skin. His lower belly ached, cramping, the swampy feeling creeping up from it to pool in his ribcage. Touching anything hurt. The brush of the sheets over him felt like nails raking over him.

At some point he became aware of his uncle sitting by his bed. He uncle didn't seem to notice him; he had his hands in his lap. They were empty, but he was staring at them like they held a book he was trying to read.

Ignis fell asleep again. He needed to get better for his birthday. He had to go to the aquarium with Noct.

The next day, the day before his birthday, he did everything he was told, both by his uncle and Tristitia. He stayed in bed; he ate; he got up to have a bath. He accepted the thermometer poked into his ear and said that he wasn't in any more pain, even though he was, just a little. He was allowed to do some homework and have his phone, which he used to text Noct to tell him that he couldn't wait to go to the aquarium.

On his birthday he got up and got dressed, ignoring his uncle's eyes on him. His stomach was churning unpleasantly, but he felt uncomfortable and not in pain. And besides, he needed to make sure Noct was happy, because if Noct was happy he was too.

He stood next to Noct at the aquarium, and smiled and read the signs to report back to Noct, who was too impatient to read, and dutifully raced around after him. He covered his mouth when Noct wasn't looking when he was afraid he'd throw up – though he didn't – and tried to breathe deeply. He wished he was as excited about the aquarium and fish as Noct was, because then surely he'd be able to ignore how his body felt like it was turning over inside him, reorganising itself.

He barely remembered any of the visit; he did remember staring into the black sand of the Galahd Sea tank, looking for night-sky fish to point out to Noct, and not finding any at all.


	3. Chapter 3

When they got back from the aquarium, Ignis' uncle was waiting for him.  
  
'Come on,' he said, and failed utterly to smile. 'Say goodbye to Noct. We need to hurry, now.'  
  
'Bye,' Ignis said, then was taken by the hand and pulled away. They went to a part of the citadel Ignis had never been in before, and it was all he could do to walk fast enough to keep up. His stomach hurt, still, though not nearly as bad as it had been the past couple of days. He still felt a little queasy, worried that the slickness between his legs was real and not imagined.  
  
'Where are we going?' he asked. His uncle didn't reply.  
  
They went to a small room, the door unmarked; inside it were five people, of which Ignis recognised only one: Regis. Ignis' uncle sat down at the table with the others. Ignis hesitated – there were no other seats – until a woman waved him forwards and directed him to stand to one side. Then she started to talk.  
  
'We are here to hear King Regis Lucis Caelum's adjudge on Ignis Scientia and Cordolis Scientia. I am representing Regis Lucis Caelum as his lawyer, and will now describe the procedure to be carried out.'  
  
They were talking about him; they were all here for him. Ignis wished he'd been given a seat as his stomach turned over, guts churning, going cold. Dread washed over him, made his skin crawl, his eyes search out his uncle, who did not look at him back. Why were the talking about him? Had he done something wrong? He was too hot, sweat prickling across his skin. He was trying to listen, but he was tired, and terrified, and he kept missing parts or not understanding the words he did hear.  
  
'Cordolis Scientia will submit consent agreement to the voluntary termination of parental rights to Ignis Scientia, with immediate effect. All previous obligations to provide care and financial support to Ignis Scientia will be extinguished. Cordolis Scientia will forfeit any right to have input regarding Ignis Scientia's education, employment, place of residence, inheritance, and any other child rearing decisions.'  
  
Ignis stared at the wood grain of the table in front of him. Regis' lawyer, a very tall woman who seemed to have only one expression – professional detachment – didn't look at him. None of them were looking at him, and it made him feel like he'd walked into something private, like he shouldn't be there.  
  
His feet hurt, a little, and he shifted from one to the other. He kept waiting for the moment one of them would turn and shout at him, tell him he was intruding and being bad and he was in trouble for it. He didn't understand what they were doing.  
  
'On termination of Cordolis Scientia's parental rights, Ignis Scientia will become a Ward of the State. In lieu of a state appointed caseworker, decisions regarding his wellbeing and rearing, including but not limited to, decisions on education, employment, and place of residence, will be given to Head of State Regis Lucis Caelum.'  
  
His uncle sat on the other side of the room, next to another man – his lawyer, Ignis understood vaguely, though he had yet to speak. There was his uncle and King Regis, and their lawyers, and two others. Ignis risked trying and catch his uncle's eye; the expression on his face made Ignis look away again, very quickly.  
  
'As Ward of the State, and legally declared omega, Ignis Scientia will accordingly be considered valid for application to placement as Regis Lucis Caelum's omega bonded.'  
  
Ignis felt something cold wedge up in his throat, making it hard to breath. Omega – that word again. The feeling of slickness inside him, pooling around his organs, and the urge to throw up swelled in his stomach, throat, back of his mouth. He could barely hear them speak over the roaring nothingness in his ears.  
  
'As Ignis Scientia's legal guardian, I would like to appeal.'  
  
His uncle, the first person to speak other than Regis' lawyer. Ignis' head jerked up at both the sound of his voice.  
  
'You may speak.'  
  
'I – I object to the proposed proceedings. Ignis is too young. He is twelve years old, a child, not even started puberty. It will be two years at least before any doctor will proclaim him fit to carry children. What, then, is the point of bonding now? And if not for bonding, what point is there in taking him from my house?'  
  
Why were they talking about him having children? Why were they talking about him at all, like he were a thing being traded between adults?  
  
'He has presented as omega; twelve is the legal age.'  
  
'The laws are outdated, written when we were a less civilised country. They–' Ignis' uncle visibly swallowed back what he'd been about to say. 'He's too young. Let Ignis remain unbonded until he is fourteen and able to carry children. He is Prince Noctis' closest friend; taking Ignis now to bond will be hugely detrimental to their friendship. If bonded now they will have no time to adjust, and it seems far too likely that Prince Noctis will lose Ignis, and lose the invaluable pillar of support he provides. This will be devastating to him, with long-lasting consequences. If you introduce the concept to them before bonding, you allow them to adjust and continue to support one another.'  
  
'If they are such close friends, as you say, I should hope they would be able to accommodate such a hiccup as–'  
  
'Ignis being _omega-bonded_ is not a _hiccu_ _p–'_ _  
  
_ 'Thank you, your appeal has been heard. You may step down.'  
  
'Regis.' His uncle turned to King Regis. 'For gods' sake, please.'  
  
'Thank you for voicing your concerns.' Regis' lawyer cut over him. 'The bonding will not be delayed; we will, of course, consider the best action to take with regards to Prince Noctis' wellbeing. We will bring you the necessary paperwork to sign this afternoon; please make sure you're present to do so.'  
  
A pausing, achingly, agonisingly long.  
  
'And legal guardianship will be given to the state?'  
  
'To King Regis, yes.'  
  
'If I refuse to sign?'  
  
'Then you will be declared unfit and guardianship will be removed from you. Depending on which charges are pressed there may be significant impacts to your job and other aspects of your life.' For a moment, Regis' lawyer's voice took on another tone – a disappointed one, one that said _I thought you knew better than this._ _  
  
_ Ignis crossed his arms and dug his short fingernails into the flesh of his elbows.  
  
'Regis. Please.' Ignis' uncle's voice was thick, wet, desperate in a way Ignis had never heard from an adult before. It was that, more than anything, that made his legs finally too weak to hold him up. He crouched down, sitting back on his heels, pressing his face to his knees.  
  
'Please,' his uncle said. 'Please, he's only a child. Please, Regis – he's just a child.'  
  
'Your concerns have been noted,' Regis' lawyer said. 'If you are both happy with the conditions, you must sign and seal the documents provided. Failure to do so before the end of the day will result in severe penalties. My colleague will be present to provide assistance should there be any confusion.'  
  
'Thank you,' Regis said, and stood. 'I regret that I am required elsewhere; I'll have the transfer documents ready by tonight, and the rest by tomorrow.'  
  
He left. Ignis glanced at his uncle, again, but his uncle was staring at the door, his face white, blotched red on his cheeks. Ignis couldn't tell if it were in anger or shock or something else. Ignis looked down again, at the tiled floor, and stood before anyone could drag him up. He felt wobbly, as if even a light knock could bowl him over, send him crashing down to break into a thousand pieces.  
  
'Cordolis,' Regis' lawyer said. 'I will remind you again that you're advised not to speak to Ignis Scientia.'  
  
'Or what?' Ignis' uncle's voice was ugly. 'He'll be taken away half a day earlier than planned?'  
  
'Or you may be facing charges of contempt of court,' she said.  
  
'Mr. Scientia,' Ignis' uncle's lawyer said, quietly. 'You'll do the both of you more harm than good to rock the boat now. It's done. We can petition it, but not now...'  
  
Ignis' uncle gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching visibly. Then he walked out of the room, leaving his suitcase behind. His lawyer sighed, picked it up, and followed him out.  
  
Tristitia was waiting for Ignis outside the room. She didn't say anything, just took his hand and led him back to the parts of the Citadel Ignis knew. For a moment Ignis thought he was being brought to Noct's rooms. Then he realised they were going to Regis' rooms instead.  
  
There was an antechamber opposite Regis' main suite. Tristitia left Ignis there with her watery, fake smile. 'Stay here,' she said. 'Make yourself comfortable; there's a bathroom beyond that door there. You mustn't leave unless Regis or myself comes to collect you.'  
  
She left him there. Ignis got himself a glass of water from the jug on the table, then sat down. He wanted to curl up, lie down properly even if it were on the floor, but he couldn't in case someone walked in on him and got annoyed.  
  
He understood that he was going to be given up by his uncle. He'd become ward of the state. What did that mean? Why didn't they want him with his uncle, any more? And where was he meant to go, now? They were talking about bonding, omegas, children. He didn't understand. What did that have to do with him?  
  
This didn't happen. He didn't understand why it was happening. Maybe he'd misunderstood. Maybe they'd been talking about something else and he just hadn't understood.  
  
He wanted Noct. He wanted to be in his uncle's suite. It was Sunday; he ought to be in his cooking class soon.  
  
Ignis woke from his doze as the door opened and Tristitia came in. He jerked upright, feeling at once small and vulnerable and exposed, something to be dissected.  
  
'Hello, Ignis, sorry to wake you,' she said. 'I need to you listen carefully, okay?'  
  
She sat on the chair next to his. 'From now on,' she said, 'your uncle has no guardianship over you. You can't live with him any more, and you mustn't talk to him in any way, even through sending him texts or emails. If you do people will find out, and he might get into a lot of trouble.'  
  
'Why?' Ignis wasn't sure whether he was asking about the loss of guardianship, or the getting into trouble part. He realised he didn't want to know the answer. He wished he hadn't said anything. He felt sick.  
  
'Without your uncle you're now a ward of the state. The head of state is Regis, so he will be the one looking after you. He will be the one who makes the decisions your uncle had used to. You cannot go to your uncle for that, or any other reason, even if it seems like it shouldn't matter. Not even to say hello or happy birthday. Do you understand?'  
  
'Yes,' Ignis said, and was almost knocked over by her hand on his back, pushing him up, forwards, and out the room.  
  
'Your lessons have all be cancelled until you've settled in,' she said. 'I'll tell you when they start again, perhaps in a day or two, but for now you don't need to worry about them at all.'  
  
She handed him over to Regis in the corridor, who was waiting for them – waiting for him. The slow, slick tightness in Ignis belly had, over the last half-day, gone away. Now it came back as Ignis toed off his shoes and entered into Regis' private suite.  
  
Regis had his hand on the back of Ignis' head, and led him along by his side. It was as much as Ignis could do to make himself walk and not stumble; his eyes skipped over the lines of the furniture, the paintings and antiques and electronics. He tried not to let himself push back when he realised that Regis was leading him directly into his bedroom.  
  
The last week seemed to be collapsing down into this moment – all the moments that didn't make sense, the sinking feelings, the dread like cold water creeping down his spine. He felt like a character in a horror film, a pre-scripted nightmare, being walked right into the worst scene.  
  
'How much do you know about omegas, Ignis?' Regis said, voice low and calm, but deeper than Ignis remembered having heard it before. 'I understand Silvia has talked with you about it.' There was a purr to the words that made the hair on Ignis' arms prickle, an eagerness that made panic flutter on the edges of his body. They went into the bedroom and Regis shut the door behind them. The main light was off, the room lit only by a small lamp in the corner.  
  
'Omegas are rare, occurring in about one in a hundred thousand,' Ignis said, managing to recite what Tristitia had told him. The words flowed off his tongue, mechanical, as if someone else were saying them. He could feel his thoughts batter against the blank way he was talking, like moths, insubstantial, breaking themselves to pieces. 'They can be either male or female, but are infertile except with an alpha, who are correspondingly rare in any given population.'  
  
'Very good,' Regis said, and sat down on the end of the bed, beckoning Ignis to sit beside him.  
  
Ignis sat, and said, in the silence: 'Omegas are–'  
  
He faltered, and stopped. He couldn't think of anything else to say. He knew that he knew more. Tristitia had talked to him for over an hour on it – on omegas, and alphas. The thoughts like moths became a hurricane of flimsy wings and scales like fine powder in the air. She'd talked about – about–  
  
He knew he knew more, but his throat had closed up and mind gone terrifyingly, utterly blank. He could feel the seconds tick by and each of them passed without him able to say anything at all.  
  
'Did they teach you anything about omega anatomy? The positioning of the uterus, perhaps?'  
  
Ignis grasped at the lead like a lifeline. 'Female omegas have an enlarged uterus but are generally similar to non-omega females. Male omegas have a uterus attached just inside the colon.'  
  
'And alphas?'  
  
'Female alphas have a penis and reduced uterus. Male alphas are similar to non-alpha males except their penis tends to be larger, and also has a knot. Female alphas have one too, a knot, a – a bulb of flesh that swells immediately before orgasm in order to promote sperm arriving at the – the–'  
  
The words were gone again. Regis' hand was on his lower back, smoothing over the fabric of his shirt, shifting lower and lower until he was cupping the swell of Ignis' bum.  
  
'Ignis,' Regis said, very gently, all but murmuring. 'As you said, we are very rare, and thus, we don't have much choice in who we are paired with. Tonight, I'm going to bond us together. Bonding is very special and something only we, as alpha and omega, can do. It will tie you to me for life. You'll be very precious to me. But because you're very small, and unprepared, it's going to hurt a lot. You're going to have to be brave, Ignis. Do you think you can do that for me?'  
  
The sound of him talking washed over Ignis and made him tremble. Ignis nodded, because he didn't think he could trust himself to speak without his voice breaking. The fear of not being able to be brave, and not being able to be brave _for the king_ , when the king had specifically asked it of him, drove through him like a physical blow and left his shaking in its wake.  
  
'After today, it won't hurt. So we just need to do this once and then it'll be over. I don't want to hurt you, but sometimes these things have to be done. Do you understand?'  
  
Ignis nodded again. He could feel himself start to cry, his eyes burning, and wished the ground would swallow him. His whole body was alight with some kind of emotion, or multiple emotions, and he felt feverish from the storm of them. The touch of Regis' hand was wrong and made Ignis' skin crawl. He didn't want Regis to think he was stupid, and pathetic, always crying, so he bit down on his lip to stop himself sniffling loudly. He felt too hot; he wanted to climb into his own bed, with Noct, his window open to let in the breeze. He wanted to stop crying, stop making himself look so pathetic in front of the king. He didn't want to be taken from his uncle, bonded to the king. He still didn't know what being bound meant. He didn't know why he was in Regis' bedroom.  
  
He clambered onto the bed as Regis' hand pushing him there gently, and knelt and held still as Regis undressed him, undid the buttons on his shirt to slip if off his shoulder, took off his spectacles and put them on the bedside table. Regis' hands were broad and rough and cool on Ignis' bare chest, stroking his sides like he were petting a cat.  
  
He sat up at a gentle prompt and let Regis undo his trousers. He thought that he ought to do it instead, but his hands felt thick and useless. He held them pressed to his stomach, hard enough his arms started to shake from the strain of it. He couldn't tell if the shivers from from his hands or his belly, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate.  
  
'I believe this is day five of your heat?' Regis said, softly, as he pushed Ignis onto his back so he could pull off his socks, slide his trousers and underwear off his legs.  
  
'Yes,' Ignis said, and his voice cracked. He was hot, like his whole body was blushing all at once. He wanted to cover up between his legs, but Regis was stroking his thighs, running his fingers over his penis, holding it loosely in one hand. No one had touched him there before, other than himself, not even the nurse from the clinic. It made Ignis' stomach squeeze, made him want to kick Regis away, hard. He put his hands on Regis' wrists but couldn't push him off. It was wrong. His whole world was tumbling down into a well of wrongness, the floor collapsed, sending him sliding and scraping down into a parallel world that didn't make sense, wrong and frightening and terrible.  
  
'You're very lovely,' Regis said, and Ignis couldn't reply to that at all.  
  
'Turn over,' Regis said, after a while, then used both hands on Ignis' hips to turn him over himself when Ignis couldn't manage to do it himself.  
  
He lay on his front and buried his face into the silk sheets, breathing through his mouth because his nose was running. He was aware he was getting tears and snot on the silk but at the same time unable able to stop, even with his eyes squeezed tight shut, breathing through his mouth. Regis' hands pushed his legs apart and stroked down the cleft of his bum with the pads of his fingers.  
  
One of his fingers pushed against him, his hole, at the same time his other hand fell on the side of Ignis' neck, just above the slope of his shoulder, and pinched the skin there.  
  
All at once Ignis' body tensed then relaxed, limp like a rag doll; he gasped at the sensation, bones gone liquid. He was hot, melted entirely, trembling. He felt like he'd been sprinting kilometres nonstop, reached his limit long ago – he tried to move, even just his arms, but couldn't. He couldn't control his breathing either – he sobbed, throat loosened to let each moaning exhale out, ribs clenching and hitching. His tongue lolled from his mouth. The finger against him pressed, and he lay there and let it. It pushed in, just the tip, then bent inside him, stoking him from the inside; Ignis fumbled with the sheets in his hands, unable to make them form fists.  
  
He couldn't understand why Regis would do that – touch him inside. The nurse had, but in the clinic, because of Ignis' health, because he was a nurse. Regis was doing it on his bed, for no reason, after talking about omegas and bonding and children. Ignis was crying into the sheets like a baby and he didn't understand why Regis wanted _him_ _–_ except that he was omega, which was why he was here, but otherwise he was too small and too pathetic and not brave at all, even after Regis had asked him to be, so surely there were other, better omegas. His hips were twitching, but he couldn't tell whether it was into the bed, or into Regis' hand.  
  
Why would he push into Regis' hand? His body felt like it weren't his own. He felt like he were only a bystander in his own body, or it were really someone else's body, or it were broken, or–  
  
The finger began moving in and out, never leaving him entirely, and he could feel his slick start to build up at his entrance and trickle down between his legs. He wanted to squirm but his body was still limp, trembling. Regis still had his neck in his hand. The pressure there made his head spin.  
  
'You're doing very well,' Regis said, before he pressed in a second finger.  
  
The stretch hurt – the pain itself wasn't too bad, and Ignis knew he'd had worse – but it was between his legs, inside him, and that was wrong. Ignis gulped and tried to force away the urge to shove at Regis' hand. He could feel the fingers press into him, thicker nearer the base, until his knuckles were pressed against Ignis' skin and he was curling his fingers again, crooking them, stroking.  
  
For a long time Regis stayed still, moving only his fingers as they curled and straightened. Ignis tried to count, to distract himself, calm his breathing, ten slow sets of ten like Silvia had taught him for when he was upset or angry. He reached the end, one hundred, then started again. He started trying to calculate how many minutes were in the sets, how long it had been, but it distracted from the counting, and Silvia had said to not allow himself to get distracted.  
  
He lost count in the seventh set when Regis started to move his hand, pulling the fingers in and out. It tugged at him, and Ignis realised he'd relaxed around the intrusion and it didn't hurt any more. He hoped, and knew he was wrong, that that had been the hurt Regis had told him about.  
  
He tried starting to count again, but barely got past the first hundred before Regis pulled his fingers out fully, slow. The absence of them was horribly, coldly immediate, and Ignis felt himself clench down onto nothing. His belly twinged; the loss made him feel hollow. He'd stopped sobbing, gone silent, and the quiet whine that broke up from his throat took him entirely by surprise.  
  
Above him, Regis chuckled. He gripped Ignis' hips – the fingers of one hand wet – and turned him back over. He ran his wet hand down from Ignis' throat to his inner thigh, then sat back. He took Ignis' right hand and guided it to between his legs.  
  
'Carry on doing as I was,' he said. 'At least three fingers, please.'  
  
Ignis didn't want to put his fingers inside himself. He could feel how dirty he was, from his lungs all the way down to the pit of his guts. But Regis was watching him, and he couldn't refuse an order – let alone from the king – or let him down more than he must be already.  
  
Tilting his hips up and off the mattress, balancing on the balls of his feet, Ignis moved his hand down and slid his fingers between the cleft of his bum to his hole. He couldn't reach to actually push his fingers inside, though, even as he lifted his hips higher. He let his hips drop back onto the bed and rolled onto one side, spread his legs to give himself better access, and moved his hand to behind himself. He could feel himself burn with embarrassment. His hole was hot, wet, and before he can freeze up he pressed three of his fingers inside.  
  
It was tight, the position awkward, and he could feel himself clench down around his fingertips. Regis had said at least three, so three was the bare minimum, acceptable and nothing else. Ignis closed his eyes, arched his back, and squeezed his fingers tight together to fit in a fourth.  
  
The mattress moved, shifting, and Ignis' eyes snapped open. Regis had got off the bed, and the relief that he'd not come closer was followed by a wave of something else – shame, the fear of Regis recognising the spike of fear for what it had been. Ignis closed his eyes again quickly, pushed his hand to shove his fingers inside himself just a bit further. He felt a twinge of pain, pressed harder, and tried not to listen to what he knew was the sound of Regis undressing.  
  
The shuff of cloth, the clink of a belt, the sound of a zip being undone.  
  
Then the mattress shifted again, dipping, and Ignis couldn't help the way his breath hitched. He froze. The feeling of being about to cry – to burst into loud, uncontrollable tears – welled up in his throat, and he swallowed it down with difficulty. He was eleven – twelve. He wasn't a baby. Twelve year olds didn't burst into tears like babies.  
  
Hands found his hips, dry and cool. One tugged his hand away, pushing it up to the pillows above Ignis' head. Again, that feeling of hollow emptiness inside him, until Regis replaced it with his fingers, pressing in deep and filling him up. Ignis arched his back and squirmed. There was something else, apart from the fullness, the stretch, the wet, heavy, hotness of fingers pushed inside him – an itch or tickle, but internal. A flicker that made his hips twitch and stomach tense, unpleasant and uncomfortable and wrong.  
  
The mattress dipped under Ignis' shoulder, and he opened his eyes the second before a hand scooped up from under his head, cradling his skull, and Regis leant down to kiss him on the lips.  
  
Ignis froze – crushed beneath Regis, claustrophobic, pinned and trapped in place. There was bare skin touching his legs, hot and dry and hairy. He could feel his heart race in his chest, feel the pulse in his throat and stomach. Something wet pressed against his lips, and Ignis realised even as he was opening his mouth, a reflex, it was Regis' tongue.  
  
He'd seen people kiss – on TV, in adverts, from a distance in real life. It was a hot and firm pressure of his lips, a strange taste in his mouth. Regis' beard scratched his chin and cheeks, wiry and harsh enough to be surprising. It was unpleasant, overpowering, almost enough to distract Ignis from the push and tug of the fingers still inside him.  
  
Regis' tongue pressed into his mouth; his lips moved on Ignis' lips, and his beard made Ignis' skin itch. It made Ignis want to scrape out of his skin, shove Regis away, cough and splutter and wipe his mouth until the feeling went away. Regis lifted his mouth off Ignis', but only to trail it down Ignis' neck, over his chest. Ignis gulped in air and muffled his sobs in his hands, feeling Regis' tongue sweep over his nipple, circle it, and Regis suck at it until Ignis' chest first bucked up into his mouth then pushed down into the mattress, a prickling, hot feeling pooling inside him.   
  
It felt like someone sifting through his organs, rummaging around. He felt too hot, something wrong inside him, his body reacting and twitching, like being tickled only infinitely worse. He smothered his mouth harder, trying to push back the words and sounds threatening to swell up and escape his throat: _please,_ and _no,_ and _stop_ – because Regis was the king, and Noct's father, and Ignis didn't have his uncle any more, only Regis.  
  
The fingers inside him did something – pressed in deeper, or stretched apart – and Ignis' hips bucked at the new, tight pain. Regis hushed him, mouth still against Ignis' nipple, the noise vibrating down into Ignis' chest.  
  
He moved over onto Ignis' other nipple, doing the same to it: licking, sucking, scraping it with his teeth. His fingers stretched out again, the burn turning harsher, sharper, impossible to ignore.  
  
Ignis could hear, distantly, from the next room, the sound of a clock chiming the hour. He tried to count the chimes but couldn't, losing count after nine. Regis' beard scratched and scraped against his chest until it felt like he was being scrubbed raw.  
  
Then Regis sighed, and lifted his head, sitting back up. 'I'd almost forgotten how wonderful it was, being with an omega,' he said. 'The scent of you, your taste–'  
  
He bent down and pressed his mouth against the crook of Ignis' neck, kissing there wet and hot, running his tongue across Ignis' skin. Ignis stifled a harsh sob, feeling exposed, dissected, made disgusting. 'I'm extraordinarily grateful to have you, Ignis.'  
  
Regis' fingers made a wet noise as he pulled them out. He placed them on Ignis' hip and Ignis twitched at the unexpected touch. 'Eyes open, please.'  
  
Ignis opened his eyes. He'd known Regis had been getting undressed, but the sight of him naked was a shock, running like a jolt of static all through his body. Then Regis got up onto his knees, and Ignis froze.  
  
Between Regis' legs his penis jutted out, red and hard and huge, and Ignis was reminded very abruptly of the porn he'd found when he'd searched _omega_ online, only days ago. The disconnect between image and reality was like a slap, the difference between thinking of pain and feeling it. He couldn't not look – the thick shaft, the tip wet, the head of it round and fat. It twitched, and Ignis flinched. It was big – it looked so much bigger than those in the videos.  
  
'What did Tristitia tell you about sex, Ignis? For alpha and omegas.'  
  
Ignis couldn't stop looking, could barely fight the urge not to roll off the bed, pick himself up, and run.  
  
He couldn't answer. He shook his head. Regis had a hand on his penis, stroking the length of it slowly.  
  
'Is that nothing?'  
  
Ignis nodded, and was finally able to close his eyes. Even then he couldn't stop seeing Regis, the image of his branded on the insides of his eyes.  
  
'I'm going to put my cock inside you,' Regis said, low and soothingly. 'Because you're so small, and you haven't been prepared properly – which would take weeks, possibly even months – it will hurt. I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about that. But I know you're very brave, and you'll be able to do this, and afterwards I'll get you a potion right away, so it will only hurt for a very short time. And remember, bonding is very special, and you're very special to be able to do it.'  
  
He picked up Ignis' legs by the ankles and lifted them as he shuffled closer. His grip was firm, not tight, but not giving Ignis the chance to kick or struggle either. Ignis' whole body had tightened up, gone stiff, and he only bent through the force of Regis pushing at him. He squeezed his eyes tighter shut until they hurt.  
  
'If you can relax and breathe through your mouth, that'll help.'  
  
The wet slap of something hot hit one of Ignis' thighs, and he jerked, his whole body flinching hard. Regis hushed him and pulled his legs so he slid over the covers and his legs were either side of Regis' chest, his lower back on Regis' folded legs, the cleft of his bum pressed hard against the heat and weight of Regis' cock.  
  
Did he want to put that inside Ignis? Ignis bit his lower lip, gnawing at it. He didn't think it would fit. There was no way it would fit. He clung to Regis with his legs around Regis' chest, as Regis told him to, and put his hands up either side of his head, as Regis directed. He could feel the erratic rise and fall of his stomach as he panted for air.  
  
The wet hotness of the tip of Regis' cock felt scalding against his skin. Ignis' hips tilted up, away from the pressure of it pushing at his hole. Regis put both hands on Ignis' hip, holding him in place, and his cock forced its way into Ignis.  
  
It burnt, like he'd shoved a knife inside him and it was slicing him open. It was too big – Ignis twisted, pushing with his legs, and he knew he ought to stay still but he couldn't, he _couldn't –_ but Regis held him in place. He could feel tearing his insides, feel blood drip down his skin, down the slope of his back, and after a moment he could smell it as well.  
  
'Please,' he said, gasping the word, feeling his whole body clench and shudder, upper body twisting. He had his feet braced against Regis' chest, trying to shove him away, his hands clawing at Regis' knees, but Regis' body was a stone wall, immovable, not capable of being fought. But he still couldn't fit inside Ignis – Ignis was too small; there was something wrong with him, not a proper omega. He'd tear apart. He'd die–  
  
'Just give it a moment,' Regis said, and paused in his push forwards. 'You're doing very well.' He was panting, too, and the hot air from his mouth hit Ignis' face in waves.  
  
It didn't feel like he was doing well. It felt like he was dying, getting torn apart from the inside. Ignis' hips jerked and Regis' grip on them tightened. He pulled them in, towards himself, dragging Ignis closer and impaling him further. He held Ignis still and leant forwards, shoving himself deeper inside Ignis.  
  
It went on forever. Ignis sobbed and tried not to struggle even as he struggled and couldn't stop, because it hurt, and hurt, and it was wrong and he must be doing something wrong because this couldn't be the perfect way alpha and omega were meant to fit together. They were meant to fit together and this wasn't, this was ruining his body to force Regis inside. He could feel all his organs being shifted out of the way inside him. He could feel the intrusion grind its way up into his soft insides, catching on something, then grind up even further.  
  
'Please,' Ignis sobbed. 'Please stop, please–'  
  
Regis didn't stop, didn't slow in his long, slow thrust inside Ignis. Ignis could feel his grip on his hips, his skin on Ignis' legs where he tried to push him away but couldn't. He could feel Regis inside of himself, a foreign presence, distorting him and tearing him, splitting him in two. How much further, how much more was there of Regis? It felt like he was up to Ignis' chest, bumping the bottom of his rib cage, and any more would pierce his lungs, poke into his heart.  
  
He was bleeding. There was a pain, sharp and tearing, and a deeper pain inside him, throbbing. He couldn't last much longer; he couldn't take more of Regis. Even if it meant being sent away in shame, and never seeing Noct again, he didn't care. He couldn't – he couldn't–  
  
Regis bent low over him and turned Ignis' head to the side, forcing it when Ignis' body refused to move. He licked the soft skin of Ignis' throat, the junction between shoulder and neck, the dips above his collar bones. He leant further and pushed Ignis' head even more to the side, crushing him. Then he bit down, hard, a mouthful of flesh from the side of Ignis' neck.  
  
For a split second there was a sudden, sharp agony, racing up and down Ignis' body like knives, scoring their way over his bones. Then the pain went, leaving only sparks of it behind, and Ignis' body seemed to melt all at once – his limbs gave up fighting, muscles going limp, his organs puddling inside him. He could feel Regis' cock inside him and it felt like it was more real than he was – that he was fluff and loose stitching, a wet rag wrapped around its solid weight.  
  
Regis loosened his grip on Ignis' neck, and Ignis could feel the impressions his teeth left. He let his head be turned, boneless, the other way, and this time Regis kissed and sucked at his neck before biting. It hurt just as much the second time, but only for that split second, and then Ignis closed his eyes because keeping them open was suddenly very hard. His muscles were all limp, heavy, too hot. Sparks flew up and down his body, strange twitches and ticks inside him. He didn't think he could move any more. He was urgently, uncomfortably aware of how wet he was between his legs – not just blood but something else, slicker and thinner and making wet nosies as Regis began rocking his hips, slipping in and out of him. The friction crawled up his body, made him shudder and gasp, moan and cling weakly to Regis' hands that had landed back on his hips to hold him up.  
  
Ignis' mouth was open, panting. His face was wet, and he knew it was as much saliva as tears and sweat. He wanted to beg but he couldn't, tongue fat and useless in his mouth. His whole body was puddled up in the loose sack of him, boneless and useless. He was too hot; he could feel himself flush all over, prickling with sweat. Regis' cock was filling him up, shifting about in his body cavity.  
  
Regis' hips thrust, once, hard. His pubic hair scraped Ignis' skin; Ignis realised he was seated fully, no more inches left. He felt sick. His stomach churned.  
  
'Good,' Regis said, short, out of breath. 'That's good, Ignis. I knew you could do it.'  
  
He picked up Ignis' hand and laid it on his belly. 'Here,' he said. 'Can you feel?'  
  
Ignis' fingers twitched. Revulsion made him try to jerk away, but Regis held him there, and Ignis could feel it – feel this way his belly was distended, swollen, a hard presence deep inside him.  
  
'This is what you're made for,' Regis said, almost fervent, half groaning out the words. His hips pulled back long inches then thrust forwards, and Ignis felt the motion in his hole as friction and pain, and inside him as his organs shifted to take the wight and presence, and through his hand being pressed into his stomach. His upper back scraped across the silk sheets as the thrust rocked him bodily. 'You're omega. Soon you'll be swollen with my knot, my come, my children. I'm going to fill you up, make your body swell for me...'  
  
He seemed to run out of air; he jerked his hips again, and again, falling into a rhythm, breathing hard. 'All swollen and tender, wet for me. Your body was made to fit mine. Look at you; you've taken all of me, your greedy little hole sucking me in, squeezing me tight–'  
  
Ignis was crying again, silent, hitching sobs. Regis took away his hand from Ignis' and Ignis clutched both of his to his chest, tucking them under his chin. The places Regis had bit were tight, tingling, like from pins and needles but sharper. Like a cat had dug its claws in him and wasn't letting go; like Regis' teeth were still embedded in his skin.  
  
Regis carried on thrusting, stroking and petting Ignis' thighs and waist, thumbing at his nipples. Then, gradually. his thrusts became shallow, barely withdrawing an inch before rocking back in, as deep as he could. 'I'm about to knot you,' Regis said, voice tight, breathless. Ignis knew, very distantly, that he ought to know about knotting, but the word slipped past him. He couldn't think of anything but the pain, and his melted down body, pliant and sodden beneath Regis. His back was wet with sweat, sticking to the sheets. His arms couldn't hold his hands up, even resting on his own chest, and they'd slipped down to either side of his head.  
  
Regis' hips rocked, for a moment frantic, the wet, tight friction wrong and terrible. Then he slowed and pushed in deep, and kept pushing, as if he could crush down Ignis' hips and find some way to force himself in even deeper than he was already.  
  
Something burnt, stretching Ignis just inside his hole; he tried to wriggle, but couldn't, half for Regis' hands holding him and half for his own body's uselessness. 'Hush,' Regis said, and shifted so he was sitting on his heels, Ignis in his lap. 'It's my knot. You can take it, don't worry, even if it feels big. You're omega. Omegas are made to take their alpha's knots. I know you can take it.'  
  
Knot. The word sunk in a little, accompanied by vague memories of medical-style diagrams that Ignis had not quite looked at out of embarrassment and crawling fear. The stretch continued to grow, making his back arch. How big? Regis was already stretching him wide open, splitting his insides until he bled. Even if he was omega, how could he take more?  
  
And even if he was omega, and could take more, he didn't want to. He didn't want to feel it swell inside him, locking him into place on Regis' cock. He didn't want to be on Regis' bed, and feel his naked skin on his own, or Regis' sweat-slicked, tickling hair. He didn't want anything inside him. He didn't want to be inside himself. He thought about crawling out of his skin, throwing himself up, jumping from one of the many high walls of the Citadel, breaking himself open so he could creep out of himself.  
  
More stretching, the swelling throbbing inside him. His whole belly was throbbing, hot, radiating heat. It hurt, pulling at the tears inside him, making them wider, inching them open, yanking at them until they tore more and more. His sobs had turned exhausted, low and moaning. He tried grasping at Regis with his knees and shoving at him, but it only tugged at the swelling inside him – the knot, Regis' knot – and Ignis realised with fluttering panic that he'd never be able to pull it out anyway. That it was too big, and it was already inside him, and he was tied to it with no escape whatever he did.  
  
When Regis leant forwards and slid a hand under his shoulders, Ignis let him. His body was loose and limp. He didn't struggle as he was scooped up and held upright, sitting on Regis' lap, legs either side of Regis' hips.  
  
'Can you turn around?' Regis asked. His breathing had calmed. His voice was low, rough, but relaxed. 'This will be a lot more comfortable if we can lie down.'  
  
Ignis couldn't quite parse the question, and sat there, slumped, head tilted to rest on Regis' shoulder. He wanted to move it but he was so tired, down to his bones, and his organs were still made of liquid.  
  
Regis held him upright with one hand as he rearranged him with the other, bending and lifting one of Ignis' legs between them, and Ignis shuddered to feel the knot inside him twist as he was turned around, his back to Regis' chest. Regis looped an arm around his stomach and lowered them both down to the bed, and he pushed Ignis' shoulders a little forwards so he could bend and kiss the back of his neck, sucking at the places he'd bit earlier. The wet heat, the feel of his tongue and lips and their suction made Ignis' hips jerk, and a sobbing groan bubbled up from his lungs. Regis chuckled over the wet, bruised skin, then placed his lips back, sucking harder. It felt like Ignis' body was melting on the inside all over again – molten, or like rotten fruit. Regis put his hands on Ignis' hips and ground into him, and Ignis couldn't quite manage to curl forwards to escape the mouth and teeth holding him in place, even though he wanted to.  
  
After a while Regis stopped pressing Ignis' hips in against himself. His hands wondered up, one stroking over Ignis' belly, the other scraping over his chest. He found a nipple and pinched it, tugging it between finger and thumb, until Ignis' back reluctantly arched and he pushed his chest out into Regis' hand.  
  
'I should milk you,' Regis said, low, and licked the line of Ignis' spine in his neck. 'Get you producing before you need to bear children.' He groaned, soft, like a sigh into Ignis' skin. 'You're so perfect. I thought – I never thought I could have another omega, but then you came along, and it was as if the gods themselves had blessed me.'  
  
His thumb pressed into Ignis' nipple. His other hand came up and cupped over his chest, pressing his palm into the flesh just under his other nipple, rolling across it. He sucked at Ignis' neck as he took both nipples between fingers and thumbs and squeezed them in a rhythmic motion, pulling then pushing down into Ignis' chest, grip tightening.  
  
Ignis couldn't move, only lie there, filled up, stretched around Regis' knot, neck aching with the bruises of his bites, nipples starting to hurt as they were tugged at and squeezed. He could barely even cry any more, too tired, not enough in him left to sob out.  
  
His right arm, which he was not lying on, was cold. He could feel his hair prickle, gooseflesh forming. His side was cold, except where Regis' arm was slung over him, and his shoulders as well. His feet were cold. The rest of him burnt hot, flesh beating in time with his heart, like when he'd broken a finger a few years back, falling down some stairs.  
  
He imagined Regis' semen pumping into him, like the text book said happened. He didn't know, exactly, what semen looked like, or how much there was, or anything beyond the vaguest description. He could imagine it filling him, stretching him like water into a water balloon, but he was fairly sure that wasn't possible. He thought he remembered something about how the knot was there to keep it in, keep it filling him up until he became pregnant. He imagined Regis pulling out, or the knot starting to go down, and letting the semen rush out of his body, pouring and splattering out onto the sheets.  
  
He wanted to squirm, but his body wouldn't, and the thought of being plugged up and pumped full made him want to retch. He breathed slow and carefully through his mouth, squeezed his eyes shut as tight as they'd go, and tried to ignore his entire body, and Regis' too. The cock pushing into him, swollen and thick, pumping him full to burst with pulses of hot liquid. The arm weighing down on his waist. The fingers still massaging his nipples, rubbing and tugging and pinching. The lips and tongue moving lazily on his neck.  
  
By the time the knot started to deflate, he barely noticed. He noticed when Regis tugged back, and tugged him back with him, the knot still too present to slip out even with him as stretched wide open as he was. It made Ignis groan, back arching so he could move his hips back without having the rest of him dragged along. Regis moved one hand to pet Ignis' stomach, just briefly, before returning it to Ignis' nipple. 'Almost there,' he said. 'You were perfect, Ignis.'  
  
Perfect. At least, Ignis thought, grasping at the notion, he hadn't done badly. Perhaps he'd done a little badly, but if he'd been terrible then Regis wouldn't lie about it. When Ignis did very badly in lessons they always told him so. At least, even if he was too small, and entirely new to it, he wasn't an inherently terrible omega.  
  
Regis pulled back; there was a tightness, one last stretch, then he slipped out of Ignis. He rolled over onto the other, empty half of the bed, and sighed long and low. Ignis curled up a little, drawing his legs in, but didn't move beyond that. He didn't think he could. He could feel himself gape open, cold air pressing at him, inside him. Could Regis see inside him, all the way up into his guts? He could feel liquid drip out of him, trailing down his bum and thighs. He felt pulverised, used up, a disposable tissue.  
  
'Just one more thing, and then you can have the potion and rest,' Regis said, and the mattress moved as he sat up, then got up. His hands rolled Ignis over onto his front, legs splayed, his open hole on display as it twitched and tried to squeeze down on nothing. 'It's been a long day; you must be very tired.'  
  
Ignis didn't look, but he couldn't stop hearing as Regis moved about the room. 'Yes please, sent her up,' he said. It took a moment, and the sound of someone else's voice, small and muffled, for Ignis to realise he was speaking on the phone.  
  
'I'm going to have a shower,' Regis said, and Ignis wondered if he was talking to him or the person on the phone. 'I'll only be gone for a few minutes. Stay there, have a rest.' His hands landed on Ignis' thighs, his bum, thumbs pushing into Ignis' hole and stretching it out. The pain flickered, but Ignis' body lay there, unable to move.  
  
He let go, smearing his wet thumbs on Ignis' inner thighs, where they met the curve of his bum. Ignis listened as Regis stepped into another room, closing the door behind him, though if there was a lock he couldn't hear it. He listened to the sound of water, splashing, made irregular by the body beneath the spray. He buried his face into the damp sheets and tried not to let his breathing get too fast, or as irregular as the water. He rolled over onto his side, and curled up.  
  
After a while the shower stopped. Another short while and Regis stepped out of the bathroom, going to the bedroom door that led to the sitting room. He unlocked it (when had it been locked in the first place? Ignis wondered) and stepped outside. The hot, humid air from the bathroom washed over Ignis for a moment, then was blown away by the cooler, dry air from the open bedroom door.  
  
The bright, main light turned on; Ignis flinched, and reflexively squeezed his eyes tighter. 'Here,' he heard Regis say.  
  
'Hello, Ignis,' a new voice said, and it took a second for him to place it as one of the doctors from the clinic. 'Can you roll over onto your front for me?'  
  
The pleasant blandness of the order – and it was an order, it was always an order – was familiar. Ignis grasped at it, and rolled onto his front.  
  
'That's it,' the doctor said. She placed a hand on his upper thigh. 'Lift those hips for me, and spread your legs a bit, please.'  
  
Ignis didn't want to. It hurt, even just rolling over. He didn't want anyone to see his swollen, abused hole, dripping fluids. He knew he had to, but–  
  
Deciding he was taking too long, the doctor reached under his hips and lifted them for him, and Ignis scrabbled to put his knees beneath him to prop himself up. There was a gentle touch, cold, then something slipping inside him – cold, plastic. It opened him up, clicking as it stretched him, and Ignis tensed, waiting for it to keep stretching, keep opening him until he was gaping obscenely, red and wet and torn open.  
  
It collapsed, then slid out of him. 'All right,' the doctor said. Fingers touched the bite marks on his neck. 'That's all I need. I'll have the paperwork ready for you first thing tomorrow morning.'  
  
'Excellent. Thank you for coming out at this hour, too.'  
  
'No, please, it's what I'm here for.' They were heading out of the bedroom again. Ignis slumped down, too tired and aching to roll over onto his side again, though his back prickled with the feeling of vulnerability, being exposed, the big open expanses of the room pressing down on him. The sheets were damp, sticking to him. The breeze from the open door was cool and soft on his skin.  
  
He was, despite himself, almost asleep when Regis came back and put a hand on Ignis' hip to rock it gently. Ignis turned his head to look up at him – damp hair, dressed in loose trousers and a shirt, the top two buttons undone. He looked away. He wished he could go back to sleep.  
  
'Here,' Regis said. 'The potion. You must be very sore.'  
  
Ignis flinched down into the mattress as something cool and solid was pressed into his hand, and even though Regis had just said exactly what it was, it still took Ignis a moment to recognise the item. His fingers twitched closed, but gently. He'd never held a potion or other curative before, though he'd seen them. It felt oddly standard in his hand. There was no thrum of power, no strange heat or coolness. Ignis grasped at it, and very carefully rolled so he was on his side – he'd meant to sit, but a jolt of pain through his belly dissuaded him of that, and he was too tired to fight through it.  
  
'Crush it in your hands,' Regis said. 'Don't worry, it won't harm you. The container will dissolve once broken.'  
  
He felt too weak to hold the thing up, let alone crush it. Still, Regis was standing over him, waiting for him to do what he'd been told. And if he thought Ignis could do it, then Ignis would have to be able to do it.  
  
The bottle shattered as Ignis put both hands on it and squeezed, and Ignis winced at the expectation of shards of glass in his palms, the undersides of his fingers. Instead something rushed up through him, like pouring water into a container, and Ignis took a deep, shuddering breath that did not hurt. He sat up, and it did not hurt.  
  
'Come on,' Regis said, and Ignis got up, and made his way into the bathroom when he realised that was where he was being directed. 'Wash up, then you can sleep. This must have been a long day for you.'  
  
Ignis nodded, because he knew he had to reply somehow, only he wasn't quite sure how, and even so he was sure that as king Regis ought to get more than a silent nod. But by the time he'd worked through that problem he was alone in the bathroom – black and grey tiled, cool and clean and silent.  
  
The water was too hot in the walk-in shower, but he didn't dare try and adjust it. He didn't want to use either of the cloths or sponges, because he'd only get them dirty, and washed as well as he could manage with his hands and soap. He picked up one of the towels that was hanging by the bath, and couldn't ignore how he kept expecting to wipe between his legs and the towel to come away bloodied. He could feel each tear and bruise in bright memory form, like a light he'd stared at too long and now couldn't see past its after image.  
  
There was a toothbrush sitting in its package on the surface by the sink. It was presumptuous to think it was his, Ignis told himself. But he didn't have his own, and didn't want to bother Regis with stupid questions about toothbrushes, and he needed to brush his teeth before bed.  
  
And whom else could it be for? Ignis unwrapped the toothbrush, brushed his teeth, and combed through his hair with his fingers. There was no hairdryer he could find. His neck felt swollen under his fingers, the two spots Regis had bitten still hot and throbbing, as if his teeth had never left. Hadn't the potion meant to heal everything? Ignis took in front of the mirror and stared at the bruises. Then he looked away.  
  
He didn't have pyjamas either. He left the bathroom naked, hair damp, and saw in tired confusion the bed with clean sheets, as if exactly the same as it had been when he'd came in earlier that night. He stopped short, and for a terrible, nightmare moment thought that it would happen all over again, that Regis would stretch and tear him and force himself inside him and bite him again, crushing him down into the mattress.  
  
'It must be past your bedtime,' Regis said from the bedroom doorway, and smiled. Ignis was too tired to startle at his presence, though something inside him flinched. 'Go to sleep, Ignis. Yes, here. You'll have your own rooms, of course, and I'll have someone show them to you tomorrow, but most nights you'll be sleeping with me.'  
  
'Yes,' Ignis said, then added, 'thank you.' He wasn't entirely sure what he was thanking Regis for – to sleep in the king's own bed? His rooms, though he'd had his own room before Regis had taken it from him – he dropped the thought, too exhausted to hold it, and crawled into the bed.  
  
It was soft and warm under the covers. The silk sheets slid over his naked body, slippery in a strange, pleasant way. He'd never slept naked before; he wondered if he'd end up getting the sheets dirty, and whether he ought to worry about it more than he was. He was tired. His body was warm, and aching in a disconnected sort of way. His whole body felt disconnected, unreal, not actually his own. The bruises on his shoulders throbbed. He shifted onto his side to watch as Regis walked back out the door and went to sit down on one of the armchairs, picking up and reading something Ignis could not see. Then Ignis' eyes fell shut. He wished he were in Noct's bed instead of here, curled up with him, whispering about stars and fish and Noct's new tutor who always squinted and gestured wildly whenever she explained anything. He wished he were in his bed in his uncle's rooms, with all his things all laid out exactly where he wanted them.  
  
He wished he weren't crying, breathless and wet and aching.  
  
He fell asleep.  
  


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  
  
  
  
Ignis woke up to Regis climbing into bed behind him. He was dressed in pyjamas, full length, but he pulled Ignis' body to him, back pressed flush to his front, Ignis' bum in the angle between his stomach and bent legs. It meant Ignis' head slipped off the pillows, resting instead on Regis' arm, and Ignis was too limp to fight it. Regis sighed and rubbed a hand over Ignis' thigh, his stomach, and cupped him between his legs to pull him even closer. Ignis squirmed, just a bit.  
  
A small, soft chuckle. 'Don't worry,' Regis said, low and slow and sleepy. 'I won't always be this clingy. Just let a lonely old man enjoy having someone in his bed again.'  
  
Ignis didn't say anything. He didn't move, except to breathe. The contact of skin on skin, through Regis' hand, burnt. The brush of fabric on Ignis' skin scraped across him like gravel. Regis' breath was loud in his ear, humid, smelling of toothpaste. It took a long time before Ignis fell back asleep, wrapped up in Regis' arms. Before he fell asleep he thought that this must have been why he'd been at this clinic so often – that he was omega and to be bonded to Regis, and not because he was dying at all.  
  
The knowledge sunk into him like a stone, cold and hard and no relief at all.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Ignis woke up. The memories of the previous night didn't so much rush back as envelop him, like deep water he was pushed out into. His eyes snapped open.  
  
'Good morning,' Regis said, as he tapped off his beside alarm. His voice was rough with sleep. 'Stay there a moment, please. Until I get back.'  
  
Ignis stayed still, frozen in place as Regis rolled into sitting on the side of the bed, stretching and scratching one shoulder. Then he got up and went into the bathroom.  
  
Ignis closed his eyes again, trying to think over the rising panic flapping like a small bird trapped in his chest. Even if he did get up, get out, and ran, where would he run to? His uncle had given him up. Or – his uncle had tried to fight to keep him, but failed. It wasn't as if the end result was different. Noct might try but there was nothing at all he could do in the end.  
  
What else was there? He barely knew how to get out of the Citadel. How to get around Insomnia was almost entirely beyond him. How to get out of Insomnia–  
  
Why was he thinking about leaving? He was omega (was he? He didn't even know what it meant, didn't understand it, could no more wrap his head around it than imagine every star and planet in the entire universe); this was what omegas did, what they were for. This is what Regis, the king, had told him to do. Wanted him to do.  
  
Regis came back in to the bedroom; Ignis opened his eyes on reflex and saw that he was naked. Ignis shut his eyes again as Regis dressed, slowly and leisurely, then went out into the sitting room for a moment. 'Ignis,' he said, as he came back in. 'Here, I have something for you.'  
  
Ignis rolled over and sat up, glad that the covers fell over his legs, bunching up around his waist. He wished he had his spectacles, but they weren't on the bedside table, and he was too afraid to get up and look for them elsewhere. He didn't really need them, but he wished he had them anyway. The faint blur of the other side of the room made him nervous.  
  
Coming over to stand by the bed, Regis proffered the box he was holding – about the size of a laptop but deeper, made of plain dark wood – and held it there until Ignis forced himself out of his stupor and reached out to take it.  
  
Inside the box four items lay on satin lining, embedded into the interior to stop them from rolling. They were cylinders of some kind of black plastic, each a different size, the largest being the width of his wrist, the smallest about half of that. They were rounded, swelling slightly at one end and flattened into a flared base at the other. There was another layer of the box, Ignis realised, and lifted the first up to find the bottom layer containing a few bottles and another item, this one raindrop shaped, with a thin neck and flared base.  
  
Ignis stared down at the items for a few seconds more, then said, 'Oh.'  
  
'Oh indeed,' Regis said, and laughed. 'You'll have to agree with me that you were rather too tight for either of our comfort, yesterday. These toys will help you loosen up, prevent a repeat of things. Start with the smallest and play with it. You might be able to go up to the second size immediately, though it's not a problem if you can't. But I expect you to use these for at least half an hour every night. Not just lying there with it sitting inside you – you need to be moving it, in and out. Do you understand me, Ignis?'  
  
Something in his voice made Ignis look up, meet his eyes. 'Yes,' he said, and the word fell out of his mouth like a stone.

'Good. I'll be able to tell whether or not you've been practicing. And this, too–' He tapped the thing with the neck and base. 'I'd like you to wear the plug for at least two hours every day. It's designed so you can insert it then carry on doing other things, unlike the others. But you're not to use any of these when you're with Noct. And only when you're in either your or my rooms. If you need to you can wear it to bed.'  
  
'Yes,' Ignis said. 'I understand.'  
  
Two hours when he wasn't in lessons or with Noct, or anywhere else in the Citadel. Or in the half hour he was practicing with the – Regis had called them toys, but – practicing with loosening himself.  
  
It would be pretty much all of the time he spent in his room. Would he be able to do his homework with it inside him? It wouldn't hurt, would it? It was a lot smaller than Regis, but...  
  
'Here,' Regis said. 'We have a little time. I'll show you how to use them.'  
  
There wasn't much he could say to that. He knew his lessons for the day had been cancelled. He knew Noct was going to be busy until four in the afternoon. He knew he wasn't allowed to go see his uncle. He was already naked, on the bed.  
  
'Lie down, on your side. Knee up, like that.' Regis' hands guide him down, one on his waist, the other pulling his leg up and bent. It was, Ignis thought distantly, the recovery position, though without the correct hand positioning. He thought there was something significant about that, some way he could spin it into something worth saying, but it remained out far of reach. Ignis closed his eyes then opened them again to watch Regis take the smallest of the toys; he squeezed out some clear, thick liquid onto it from one of the bottles onto it, and Ignis watched his hand smooth over the dark plastic, making it glisten, wet.  
  
'Lubricant,' Regis said. 'Very important if you're not in heat; don't be afraid to use a lot of it. If you're having problems or don't understand, you can ask Tristitia.'  
  
He flinched when Regis placed the toy in his hand, and kept his grip on Ignis to position him with his hand behind his back and the round tip of the toy nudging up against his hole.  
  
Ignis took a sharp, stuttering breath at the touch – cold and wet – and felt his whole body tense. His stomach dropped like he was about to be sick.  
  
'Shh,' Regis said, and moved the toy with his other hand so it circled Ignis' hole, pushing against him lightly. 'You'll need to breathe through this. Take a few deep breaths, slow. It won't hurt, but only if you do it right.'  
  
Regis took his hand away. Ignis very almost yanked his own back, but managed not to, only twitch. He lay still, except for the rise and fall of his shallow panting. 'Ignis,' Regis said, 'push it in. Deep breaths.'  
  
He couldn't. He couldn't. He felt sick and panicky and his hand would absolutely not move, no matter how much he wanted it to. He could feel his eyes burn with tears. He wanted to do this. He didn't want to let Regis down. But he couldn't, and at the same time the idea that he shouldn't and shouldn't want to coiled inside him like a snake at the bottom of a very deep hole. It was wrong. It made him feel wrong and sick and wasn't it that you had to be over a certain age to have sex, legally? Because he couldn't be over that age. This was sex and he didn't want it – he wanted to be back in his bed with his uncle listening to the radio in the study, working. He wanted Noct. He didn't want to be omega, even a bad one.  
  
Regis' hand landed back on his, and very gently pushed. The tip of the toy pushed into Ignis' hole, opening it. Ignis clenched down without meaning to, and shoved it back out again.  
  
'Ignis,' Regis said. 'You were very good last night. Please at least try today, as well.'  
  
'I'm sorry,' Ignis said, but it came out thick and wet and pathetic. He sniffed, so his nose wouldn't run on the silk sheets, but it only made him sound even more like a baby than he already did.  
  
'I know, but you still need to work with me. I was very impressed with how well you performed last night; please don't make me have to change my opinion of you.'  
  
Ignis wanted to tear his hand away. Regis' palm and fingers were hot over his, uncomfortably so. The slow, tight knot in his stomach at Regis' words made him feel even more sick. Would someone else be better at this? Was he a rubbish omega? And if he was, would Regis get rid of him as soon as he found a better one?  
  
What happened to omegas no one wanted?  
  
'Please,' he said, whispered, but he didn't know what he was asking for. Tears were welling up in his eyes, burning. He felt like someone had loosened all the ties and screws inside his head and shaken him, hard. He didn't want to do this, but he didn't want to disappoint Regis, and he wanted to stop, and wanted to do well–  
  
Regis pushed on his hand, firmer, and braced Ignis with is other hand on Ignis' hip. The toy slid into him, wet, slick, enough that Ignis could feel it being wet and slick inside of him, cold. It pressed against his insides as it pushed in and he clenched down around it. It hurt. He arched his back, breath catching in his throat, ribs squeezing, his legs jerking as he tried to curl up, then straighten them, and each shift only made the sharp ache of the thing inside him worse.  
  
'There,' Regis said, and took away his hand. Ignis grasped at the end of the toy, but his fingers were nerveless, and he couldn't grasp it tight enough to pull it out.  
  
Regis stroked his thighs, his waist. 'See, very easy. Soon you'll barely be able to feel a tiny thing like that. I'll get you a larger set, and something more interesting, but until you're used to these ones we'll stick with the basics.'  
  
Fingers finally getting a hold, Ignis pulled at the toy. He only managed to slide it most of the way out before Regis' hand caught him, and stopped him from letting it out further. Ignis could feel himself twitch and tremble around its girth.  
  
'Take it in and out slowly. It'll be easier if you don't let it fall out completely, in order to build up a rhythm. But if it does come out it's not a problem.'  
  
Together, they pushed it back in. 'Deep breaths,' Regis said, softly, as he tucked Ignis' leg up a little closer to his chest. 'You'll need to experiment with position in your own time. On your back with your knees up to your chest is another good one, or on your front. A pillow under your hips can help with comfort. Don't worry about getting your sheets messy; they'll be changed at least every day, and I'm sure if you want them done sooner than that you only need ask.'  
  
Regis' hand on his, they fell into a sort of rhythm. Ignis tried not to squirm, tried to breathe deep and slow, and keep his legs still and not tense and fidget. The wet friction was weird, unpleasant, making him feel like he was about to soil the bed. Regis' hands on him, his eyes, his slow, gentle voice, felt like they were crushing him, burrowing into his skin like worms in mud.  
  
Would Noct even want him, after this? He'd be able to tell something was wrong. He'd be able to tell Ignis was omega, used up and not good for best friends any more...  
  
Regis' hand loosened its grip, and Ignis' hand faltered. He lost his rhythm, couldn't push back in – Regis' hand closed back down on his, and pushed it down.  
  
Half an hour. How long had it been? Not even five minutes. He was already aching, his hips tensed up and feeling bruised all over.  
  
He bit his lower lip, trying to concentrate on the feel of his teeth, the different pain. It didn't work; it just added to the ache, the tremor in his stomach, his skin shivering under Regis' hand.  
  
Regis' hand disappeared, and this time Ignis managed to maintain the rhythm of the thrusts, feel the friction, the foreign push of it inside him. His mouth fell open so he could breathe, deep panting breaths, and flinched at Regis' hand stroking his back.  
  
'That's good,' Regis said. 'You'll get used to it very quickly, and then it'll be like second nature. You just need to keep at it.'  
  
Would it be like second nature in that it no longer hurt, no longer felt disgusting, wouldn't make him want to retch? Or would he just get used to those things and not show them any more, because they were so normal?  
  
He didn't ask, just forced his arm to keep up the rhythm. In-out-in-out-in-out-in-  
  
Regis got up, and Ignis' arm fell still, except its tremors. No, he had to keep going. He forced himself to move. Regis, above him, made an appreciative noise.  
  
'I need to go now. Since it's your first day you can stop now if you want, but I expect you to work on it every day after this.'  
  
He was already leaving, slipping on his suit jacket, but he stopped once more by the bed on his way out. He ran a hand through Ignis' hair, then down his neck, and pushed his thumb on a spot just above Ignis' shoulder, where it was swollen and sensitive.  
  
Ignis moaned, hearing the sound before he even realised it was himself making it, and the noise of it came with a weird, sickening jolt in his gut. He couldn't stop, though; his hips jerked back, and his fingers and toes curled.  
  
Regis laughed. 'You really are wonderful,' he said. 'But don't worry, it's only proximity to me, and your heat, that's giving you such a strong reaction. I imagine you'll become much more habituated to touch in general as well as there, soon enough. Get cleaned up and wait in the sitting room; someone will come around shortly to show you to your rooms.'  
  
He left, closing the door firmly behind him. Ignis pulled out the toy with a wet pop and let it drop on the bed. Then he curled up, tight, heels pressed against his bum, arms hiding his face.  
  
It was only the idea of someone coming and finding him naked, on the bed with that thing – slick and so obviously used – that got him up. His whole body ached, even though it had no good reason to. There was a sharp sting in his bum, a pain that made him limp if he didn't stop himself and walk properly. He very gingerly pressed his fingers there, but there was no blood on them when he took them away to inspect them.  
  
Regis had said to clean himself. He'd take another shower. He wouldn't be able to clean himself with just a basic wash. He needed to – he needed to clean the lubricant from between his legs. Or it would get on his clothes. Yes. That was it.  
  
There were clothes for him on the dresser, he found. Not his own – he couldn't find the ones he'd been wearing when he came in last night – but a new set in gold and Royal black: underwear, a shirt and trousers and a tight-fitting jacket, almost but not Kingsglaive style, or the formal dress of some of the Royal offices. They were in his size, fitting him exactly, about as clearly for him as was possible. Ignis put them on, feeling at once like an intruder wearing stolen clothes as a poor disguise, and dizzyingly glad to no longer be naked. The fabric was very tight but stretchy, thick, and warm. By the side of the clothes, he realised, was a glasses case. It wasn't his own, but then, the clothes hadn't either, and he still hadn't found his spectacles. He opened it, and found spectacles that weren't his either – the frame was different, they were brand new – but he put them on and they were his prescription exactly. The sharpening of his eyesight was a second instant relief, near-tangible in his gut, and outweighed the fear of inadvertently stealing someone else's spectacles.  
  
Then he turned back to the bed, some of that relief dropping away. Regis had said the box and its contents were for him, hadn't he? And he'd said he needed to use them every night, so it made sense that he took them with him.  
  
The dirty toy lay on the bed like a dead animal. Ignis gritted his teeth and forced himself to pick it up in his fingertips. It was slimy and cold. He inspected the bottles in the box and found one that was a soap; he grabbed it and went into the bathroom to wash the thing, drying it on toilet paper which he flushed, then cleaning the sink with more soap and toilet paper. He hesitated then took out another bottle, that said on the label to spray on toys after use; he sprayed it on, dried it with more toilet paper, put the things in the box and closed the lid. Then he went out into the sitting room, the box sitting in front of him on the coffee table, and waited.  
  
The door rattled with a quiet, gentle knock. It was the woman from before, Tristitia, who'd told him about being an omega, and she didn't wait for him to say anything between her knocking and entering. Her smile on seeing him was tight and very fake, like all her smiles. Had she known what had been arranged for him? She must have. Everyone had, except for him, and Noct. Ignis looked down at his knees then stood up, grabbing his box.  
  
'Good morning, Ignis,' she said, the pleasant happiness in her voice just as fake as her smile. She didn't look at the box, as if it weren't there at all. 'I'm told you haven't been to your rooms yet. Is that so?'  
  
He hated, suddenly and immediately, that she was going to force him to speak. Perform. His jaw clenched hard enough to hurt.  
  
There was a long silence. Tristitia shuffled her feet, then carried on as if he'd been cheerful, obedient, as verbose as she clearly wanted him to be. 'If you're ready, I can take you to them now. Here–' she came the few steps over to him, and Ignis felt himself stiffen, lean away, as she offered something to him. 'The key. Only you and a few others will have a copy.'  
  
'Will you?'  
  
She hesitated. 'Yes,' she said. 'I'm here to look after you, and make sure you're doing all right. I won't use it unless I'm sure it's an emergency.'  
  
He didn't believe her, but he nodded and took the key anyway, putting it in his trouser pocket.  
  
'Perhaps we can find you a nice keyring,' she said. Perhaps she realised how inane she sounded, Ignis thought, because she seemed to cut herself off. 'Well. Shall we go?'  
  
She locked the door to Regis' suite after her, which meant she had, at least for now, a copy of his keys as well. The thought made Ignis feel marginally better, until he caught himself. Even if she had keys for both their rooms that didn't mean she'd use them equally. And besides, she probably had to return Regis' ones after this, and only had them now to collect him.  
  
He'd known he would be staying close to Regis, but was still caught out when they only went down the corridor not even a dozen yards, coming to a stop in front of a door on the other side of the hall from Regis'. For a moment Ignis waited for her to carry on walking, or perhaps knock on it for someone else, or that she was wanting to look at her phone and didn't wouldn't while doing so. Then she said: 'Here we are. You have the key, Ignis.'  
  
_You only just told me you have a key as well,_ Ignis thought, as he fumbled to get out his key and open the door, hating being caught unawares, stupid. The door unlocked with a secure click, swinging open silently.  
  
Ignis walked in, immediately recognising a few of his books that had been placed on the bookcase; he squinted to try and read the titles. Then he pulled his eyes off them and looked around, taking a few steps forwards, conscious of Tristitia behind him.  
  
The room was done up similarly to Regis', and the sameness made Ignis feel slightly nauseated, the echo of walking into Regis' suite shivering up him. The floor was light wood, the furniture sleekly fitted to the room in a way that made him think that the room had been built around the furniture and not the other way round – though that was a stupid thought, Ignis told himself. The Citadel had been built ages ago and this furniture was all new. There was a large TV, and a glass and wood coffee table, and two very large sofas with an armchair as well. There was a mirror, and cupboards, and not much else. It looked like a museum, an art instalment in a gallery he was meant to look at and explore but not touch. There weren't any of the antiques or paintings Regis had. Ignis took off his shoes to put on the slippers that had been left by the door, and went to look in the rest of the rooms.  
  
There was a little kitchen, with some cupboards – empty except a rice cooker, various packets of snacks, tea, cans of soft drinks, and a stack of bottled water. There was a small fridge with nothing in it. There was an electric hob hanging up next to some pans, and a sink with a draining board but no draining rack. One of the drawers was full of cutlery, and another had a spatula, a spoon, a garlic crusher, and a little sieve. The counters were sleek and black. There was a chopping board propped up to one side, but he couldn't find any kitchen knives.  
  
Ignis came back into the sitting room to see Tristitia on one of the sofas, looking at her phone. She glanced up at him. 'Take your time exploring,' she said. 'I'll stay here until you're done so I can answer any questions you have. On anything, that is – not just the rooms.'  
  
Her voice had turned strange by the end; Ignis turned away and went into the bedroom.

It was large, and the bed was large – about the size of Regis' bed. Ignis opened one of the doors to the side to find a walk-in wardrobe, mostly empty. His clothes had mostly been moved in – he couldn't see all of them – but they only filled one of the several racks. Another of the racks had been filled with new clothes, some like the ones he was wearing now, others different. His stomach dropped, though he didn't know why, the back of his neck crawling with the feeling of someone standing behind him. There wasn't anyone there, but he left the bedroom without closing the wardrobe door, feeling like he'd trip up to get his feet working fast enough  
  
The other door from the sitting room went to a smaller room with a desk, a view onto a courtyard, and a bookcase with the rest of his books. There were empty shelves; Ignis ran his finger across all of them, and found them as free from dust as anything else.  
  
He supposed the bathroom was connected to the bedroom, but he didn't want to go in and check. Instead he went to stand by Tristitia. He didn't have anything to ask, but realised he desperately wished he did. He didn't want her to leave him on his own, even if he did hate her.  
  
'Have you found everything?' she said, sliding her phone into her pocket but staying seated.  
  
Ignis nodded, stupidly.  
  
Tristitia smiled that fake, awful smile. 'Someone will be around to do some tidying every weekday morning at nine, and weekends at ten. Here – let me give you my number. If there's any problem, give me a call or text, whichever you prefer, and I'll see what I can do.'  
  
She took her phone out again and tapped away at it for a few seconds. Ignis' phone beeped from the bedroom. Ignis felt a rush of irrational anger, as if his own phone had betrayed him somehow by accepting the text. 'I just sent you a message,' she said. 'That's my personal number. Please, Ignis, don't hesitate to contact me at any time. For any reason.'  
  
She was staring at him, pale eyes intense, almost pleading. Ignis looked away and nodded, already knowing he wouldn't take her up on her offer. Then Tristitia stood, but didn't move further than that. 'You'll need to spend today here, to rest up after last night. Someone will come around with meals – I'm not sure what it'll be but I'm sure if you catch them at breakfast they'll be happy to take requests for lunch and dinner. Tomorrow you can resume your lessons and visits to the prince, and unless you request it, they'll pack you a lunch and assume you'll be eating out for dinner. I'll be coming back tomorrow,' she said, 'to see how you're settling in. Would seven in the evening be a good time?'  
  
He meant to say, _yes,_ or, _that's probably fine._ Nothing came out, so he nodded again, like he was completely incapable of doing anything else.  
  
'Thank you,' she said. She took a deep breath. 'I'll see you tomorrow at seven, then, Ignis. Good-bye until then. And remember, you can contact me at any time.'  
  
She left, and closed the door with a neat click behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

The room felt silent, and like the silence was a physical weight pressing in at him from all sides. Ignis looked up at the clock hanging on the wall. It was just almost nine o'clock. He wasn't meant to leave the rooms until tomorrow. So what should he do until then?  
  
He took the key out of his pocket and put it on the coffee table. It made a loud , sharp noise against the glass, and Ignis flinched. The silence echoed down at him. In his uncle's rooms there'd always been the sound of traffic, the buzz of the city from outside . Here there wasn't anything .   
  
Ignis went to the front door, but there wasn't a way to lock it from the inside. He wasn't sure if he would have been allowed to lock it even if he'd been able to. Maybe he wasn't, so that was why he couldn't.   
  
He wished he could. He went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, but couldn't make himself drink it even though he knew he had to drink lots of water to stay healthy . He put the glass down on the counter and went back into the sitting room. He felt hunted. He felt like a small animal in a room with a coeurl, like the ones he'd seen on TV.   
  
There was a knock on the door. Ignis startled, then froze. After a moment the person knocked again, and Ignis realised that they were waiting for him to let them in.   
  
Outside his door stood a man with a tray. 'Good morning,' he said, perfectly polite, but his eyes raked over Ignis like they were trying to pry away his skin, find out all his secrets. 'I'm afraid we didn't know your preferences for food; will this be all right? Would you like something different tomorrow?'   
  
Ignis looked at the tray: rice and soup and fish, with a plate of toast and jams and butter. His stomach turned over, his throat tightening. 'Thank you,' he said, reflexively, and took the tray. 'That's – this is fine.' He bumped the door shut with his hip, gently nudging it the rest of the way with his foot until it clicked shut. He put the tray in the kitchen, closed the kitchen door, then went into the bedroom to find the bathroom. He dry-heaved over the toilet until he was crying from it, his body shaking, throat raw. He felt like he'd fallen apart, come undone at the seams, his organs detaching from each other and the inner walls of his body to rattle around inside him. His throat hurt; his stomach was clenching, trying to expel something that wasn't there. He hurt; he was tired, and he didn't know what to do.   
  
By the time he was done retching his stomach ached like he'd been punched. He slumped down against the toilet bowel, not caring that it was dirty, and his eyes drifted shut. He didn't have the strength to get up, or even turn around, roll over so he wasn't leaning against the dirty toilet. His throat burnt with the faint taste of vomit, even though he hadn't actually thrown anything up. His eyes were gritty, hot, painful.   
  
He didn't want to move. He didn't need to, or at least he didn't think he needed to. Eventually he pulled his feet under him and crawled to a stand anyway. He wobbled as he crossed the bathroom to the sink, going light-headed. He brushed his teeth and drank from the glass sitting by the sink, then washed his face. The soap wasn't his, that his uncle bought for him. This one smelt strange, like spices and the plants in the greenhouses.   
  
When he went into the bedroom, legs still weak and useless, his eyes fell straight on the box on the bed.   
  
Regis had told him to practice, hadn't he? Because Ignis was too small and tight and not good enough not to make it bad for himself.   
  
He took the plug out of the box, and held it in the palm of his hand for a moment. He looked at the bottle of lubricant and read the instructions on the back. He closed his bedroom door after peering out into the sitting room – the front door was locked, and he'd be able to hear if someone unlocked it and came in – then clambered onto the bed.   
  
Maybe he was bad at being omega because something fundamental about him. Or maybe if he practiced he'd get better.   
  
He didn't want to be thrown away. Not again.   
  
He scrubbed at his eyes before he poured lubricant over the plug, then closed them for a second before putting the plug down and taking off his clothes. It left a smear of slickness on the covers – he should have got undressed first – before he picked it back up and lay down as if in the recovery position, like Regis had shown him. He pressed the tip of the plug against himself.   
  
It didn't slide in. He could feel himself pushing back against it. He shoved harder.   
  
It hurt, but then it was fully inside him, the flared base pressing at his bum, leaving him gasping into the sheets. He felt himself clench around the girth of it, body trying uselessly to force it back out.   
  
But it was good. It would make him better. It would make Regis less disappointed in him.   
  
Ignis got up, trying not to let his breath hitch every time he felt it shift inside him. He wasn't about to have an accident; this was what it was meant to feel like. This was what he needed to get used to, as an omega. As Regis' omega. The king's omega. Regis had chosen him specifically. He'd wanted him enough to fight for him.   
  
Glancing at the clock – ten o'clock, so he could take it out at twelve – he put on his clothes again. He wanted to squirm, or go sit on the toilet. He wanted to pull it out. Instead he went to wash his hands, and put the lubricant back in the box, and put the box in the cabinet in his bedside table. Then he took it out of the bedside table and looked around, because he needed somewhere more hidden, somewhere where it couldn't be found so easily. But where? On top of the bookcase, maybe? Inside the walk-in wardrobe, or with his folded clothes in the chest of drawers? There wasn't anywhere he could keep it secret. Anyone could find it. Noct could find it.   
  
He went into the wardrobe, the smallest, safest space he could think of, to find somewhere to put it. Standing there, looking around, he felt the swell in his throat and chest and behind his eyes just a second before he burst into tears – hot and choking, shaking his body like people were hitting him with sticks. He folded up in a corner, flinching at the feel of the thing move inside him, press at the walls of his insides, stretching him to fit around it. His body didn't feel like his any more. He felt like he'd been put into someone else's body, and he didn't want to be there. This was was wrong. He wanted his own body back. This one was different and painful and frightening and he didn't want to have it and keep having it. He just wanted his old body back, his old room.   
  
He'd rather die than keep living in this body. Omega body. He wanted to blink out of existence, fall asleep and not ever wake up again.   
  
The sobs shook him hard. He didn't want it. He didn't want any of it. He wanted Regis to throw him away forever.   
  
By the time he'd finished crying he felt dull, hollowed out, and stupid. What did it matter what he wanted? He didn't have a choice in any of it. It didn't matter that he was bad at being omega, because Regis would make him good at it. Regis had given him new rooms, clothes, spectacles, ways to stretch out his body until it could fit around Regis' cock. He'd be made into a good omega by Regis, Tristitia, Silvia, and he couldn't do anything about it.   
  
He didn't feel real. He felt like he was floating, a husk of something, crumpled up paper. The shifts and ticks inside him, the pressure of the floor and walls and plug on his own body, felt insubstantial. His eyes were closed, his head down and chin pressed into his collar bone, wedged into the corner of the wardrobe. He was too tired to move. He didn't care enough to move. He hoped, without knowing it was in any way realistic, that he'd just be left in this corner forever.   
  
He'd miss Noct. And more importantly, Noct would miss him.   
  
The thought seemed to wake him, though he hadn't been asleep. He crawled out of the wardrobe on his hands and knees, wincing as pins and needles clawed their way across his body, to check the time. It was twenty to twelve – still twenty minutes, then, until he was allowed to take the plug out.   
  
He pushed himself into standing only to creep into bed, under the rumpled covers, trying to ignore the feel of the plug inside him as he moved. He ought to get changed into his pyjamas, he thought. He was making his bed dirty. But it was only the middle of the day and he could hardly accept lunch with his pyjamas on, or if someone like Silvia or Tristitia returned, or even Regis.   
  
He couldn't get comfortable. He couldn't lie on his side without starting to pant, feeling the memory of hands on him, the slickness inside him. But he couldn't lie on his back because that pressed against the plug, and lying on his front made him think of Regis kneeling over him, pinching his neck, making him go limp and weak.   
  
Wrapping the cover around himself in a cocoon, like he'd used to as a small child, he curled up tight as he could. He couldn't ignore his own body. He couldn't escape it. Tristitia had said people just were omega, like people were born men or women, the only difference being alphas and omegas – or at least omegas, and male alphas – only found out much later. He was omega, and that was all there was to it. Regis would make him how he wanted him to be, a good omega, and there wasn't anything he could do about it.   
  
Didn't he want to be a good omega? He should. He should always want to be better, good enough.   
  
He didn't remember Noct's mother, but she must have been omega, too. She must have been good enough.   
  
He wasn't being married to Regis, like she'd been, because that would make him – prince? And Noct was already the prince, and younger than him, too. But he would be Regis' omega bonded.   
  
He didn't want to be Regis' omega bonded. He didn't want to be prince.   
  
His eyes were burning with tears again. He sniffed, loudly, then froze, frightened someone had heard him. Imaginary figures of people standing beside his bed, waiting for him to move so they could pounce on him, gripped him. His body tensed up with the anticipation of the mattress shifting as Regis got onto it. He could feel himself clench around the plug, and it hurt, like poking a bruise.   
  
Sweat prickled on his skin. He couldn't breathe under the covers, stuffy, suffocating. It was probably after twelve, now.   
  
Like with breakfast, only the thought of someone coming around with dinner and him with the plug still stuck inside him made him pull down his trousers, reach around and tug the plug out. Regis had said he couldn't have it in with other people around, and besides, he didn't want that either. It hurt to remove it, though the base made it easy to grasp; at the broadest part the pain became sharp, before the thing slid all the way out with a wet sound. He could feel himself clench down, hole squeezing onto nothing, trying to readjust. He lay there and panted for a moment.   
  
Regis had wanted to use these to stretch him out, make it easier to push his cock into him. But what if it became too easy? What if Ignis' hole just became slack, gaping, with no resistance or tightness at all?   
  
He washed the plug in the sink with the soap, and washed the sink, and sprayed and dried the plug before putting it back in the box. He put the box in the wardrobe, behind a shoe rack, but it was big enough to push the rack out from the wall and make it obvious something was there. He took it out again and looked around, then went into the bedroom. There wasn't anywhere to hide anything. Even under the bed was a big, empty space that would make anything placed down under there immediately obvious. In his chest of drawers was the only place, yet being the only place would make it as obvious as any other, less hidden location.   
  
He didn't _need_ to hide it, but what if Noct found it? What if whoever came to clean his room found it?   
  
Ignis shoved the box in the bottom drawer of his bedside table, and went to find a book to put on top of it. Then he slammed the door and went back into the sitting room, wiping his hands on his trousers.   
  
What next, then? Tristitia had said she'd be back at seven. He wasn't allowed to leave. His uncle didn't want to see him any more, now Ignis wasn't his.   
  
It was almost one o'clock. Noct would be finishing having lunch and starting his afternoon lessons. How much had Regis told him? Had he told him he and Ignis were bonded? That Ignis would be almost – not really – part of their family, having been taken from his own? Had he told Noct that he'd undressed Ignis and had sex with him?   
  
Ignis curled up on the sofa, then got up to sit in each spot in the room – on each end and the middle of the sofas, on the armchair, on the floor. He went to look out of the window. It was drizzling, the sky a grey sheet patterned with the king's wall, Insomnia's greatest defence, the world's most wondrous and perfect piece of magic.   
  
Ignis went back to the sofa, turned the TV on to a cooking programme, curled up, and buried his face in the pillow as he started to cry again.   
  
He ignored the knock on the door. If it was important they'd have keys and come in regardless of whether he wanted them to or not. If it was lunch, he didn't want it. His breakfast was still in the kitchen, cold and gone to waste. He still felt like he'd throw up if he even tasted food of any kind.   
  
The person knocked again, then again. Each time Ignis tensed, screwing up his eyes, waiting for the sound of the click and swing of the door opening. It didn't come. Eventually the knocking stopped.   
  
The TV droned on, having switched from a woman talking about traditional Lucian cuisine to a competition of some kind, a group of people in a professional kitchen, shouting at each other. Ignis let himself get distracted. He wondered if Noct would like any of the food they were preparing. He wondered if he'd be able to make any of it, then decided not, because he didn't have any kitchen knives, or any ingredients. He wondered if he'd be able to go back to his cooking lessons. It was Monday today, so he'd missed this one, as well as the one on Saturday.   
  
No, he shouldn't think about that. He watched as one man threw up his hands and walked out of the kitchen, the camera zooming in on the swinging doors that closed behind him.   
  
Maybe he could practice how to cook here, where he didn't have to worry about getting in his uncle's way. He could ask for kitchen knives, and ingredients. He watched as they seared steak, cut vegetables into intricate laces and designs, plated everything with an efficiency that Ignis could barely keep up with. He closed his eyes and drifted off to the sound of fish being fried whole, oil splattering and crackling.   
  
The sound of knocking woke him, and Ignis jerked up onto his feet before he was fully awake. His heart was hammering in his throat.   
  
Knocking again, but it was different to the person who'd brought his breakfast and lunch. Quieter, quicker, an uneven rattle and not the tap-tap-tap from before.   
  
'Ignis?'   
  
Noct's voice. Ignis was half-way to the door when he realised what he was doing, and couldn't remember whether he'd been told to stay away from Noct.   
  
But he could hardly leave Noct outside in the corridor, knocking on his door, ignored.   
  
Ignis opened the door and Noct all but launched himself in. Swinging back to avoid his small body, Ignis shut the door behind him. He turned.   
  
'Ignis!' Noct's bright, open smile was like an open wound. 'You're really here! I can't believe you're living with us now–'   
  
His arms were around Noct, crushing him to his chest. His legs collapsed underneath him, dragging them down to the floor. He couldn't breathe; he was gasping, gulping in breath after ragged breath through the shoulder of Noct's shirt, where he'd buried his face.   
  
Noct's body was warm, bony, fragile in Ignis' arms. 'Ignis?' Noct said, small, and clutched at him back. 'Specs? What's wrong?'   
  
He shook his head, but it was an effort, and he couldn't have spoken in reply even if he'd had anything to say. He pulled Noct in tighter, harder, distantly aware that it probably hurt, but he couldn't stop himself. He was shaking, trembling hard enough he felt like he was falling apart again, the floor breaking open beneath them like ice plates on the Northern Niflheim sea cracking in the spring, that he'd seen in a documentary once.   
  
'Ignis?' Noct's voice, tiny though it was, vibrated through Ignis' chest, into his lungs, his beating heart. Ignis' hands were going numb; his arms were trembling from the effort of gripping and holding Noct as much as anything else. Eventually he loosened his grip, more because he had to than because he wanted to.   
  
Noct didn't get up, or push him away, or leave again. 'What's wrong?' he said, whispering it against the side of Ignis' head. He sounded frightened. It really wasn't fair that Ignis was expecting Noct to comfort him, and really not when Noct didn't have any idea what was happening.   
  
And he wouldn't know. He didn't need to know. He didn't need to be frightened and disgusted by his own father, whom he loved a lot. Ignis would protect him from that. He'd let him still be happy with his father, his only family.   
  
What if, Ignis thought, Noct would side with his father over Ignis? What if he already knew everything and had already sided with his father?   
  
Why was Ignis thinking about sides, when Regis was king and an adult and obviously knew what was best, far more so than someone like him? So there couldn't be sides at all, except that Regis was right and he was wrong.   
  
'Nothing,' Ignis said, not because he thought Noct would believe it, because he wouldn't, but to buy time. What would he tell Noct? That he was homesick? That he missed his uncle? What if Noct tried to ask his father that Ignis should be let to go back to his room in his uncle's suite, and Regis said no?   
  
What if he said yes?   
  
'Come on,' Noct said, voice still small and shaken. 'You never cry.'   
  
'I had a nightmare,' Ignis said, which wasn't very realistic because he rarely had nightmares and when he did he was never that badly affected once he'd woken and realised he'd been dreaming. But Noct had bad nightmares and was always scared even long after having woken up. He was sensitive to even the idea of them.   
  
'I'm still missing my old room,' he added, because Noct knew he didn't have bad nightmares.   
  
Noct hugged him closer. Their legs were tangled up – one of his was under himself, the other squashed between Noct's. Noct's knee was pressing into his hip, the other bent and curled around Ignis' waist.   
  
'Oh,' Noct said. 'I'll be okay. Don't worry. Do you want me to sleep with you?'   
  
Ignis forced himself not to react for a second, until he was sure his body wouldn't flinch and his voice not hitch. 'No,' he said, 'but thank you, Noct.'   
  
It meant he didn't know what his father was doing, then.   
  
'Do you – do you want Carbuncle?' Noct's voice was quietly anxious, but more determined. 'Until you get used to sleeping here.'   
  
Carbuncle, who guarded Noct's dreams. 'No,' Ignis said, firmly, and didn't need to fake it. 'No, you keep him. I'll be all right.'   
  
'Are you sure?' Noct leant back to try peer into Ignis' face, but Ignis just leant with him and kept his face on Noct's shoulder. 'If we sleep together then he can guard both of us.'   
  
'I'll be all right,' Ignis said again. 'But thank you, Noct. And you shouldn't offer things like that. Carbuncle is precious. You shouldn't... pass him around like a toy.'   
  
He felt Noct stiffen and pull back. 'What? Don't be – that's stupid. Ignis, I'm only saying you can borrow him. And it's – it's you. I'm not saying just anyone can take him.'   
  
'I know,' Ignis said, knowing it was wrong to argue but somehow unable to clamber out of the rut he was driving himself forwards in. 'But, still. You should keep him with you.'   
  
Noct sat back, and Ignis let him. 'That's stupid,' he said, voice rough. He got up, and went to cross the room.   
  
'Noct.' Ignis scrambled up to catch up with him. 'Noct. I'm sorry. I – I didn't mean to tell you what to do.'   
  
Noct was still stiff and hard, but he softened when Ignis put a hand on his arm. 'No, sorry, I...' he said, trailed off and didn't finish, instead turning to bury his face in Ignis' chest, wrapping his thin arms around Ignis' waist. Ignis held him back out of reflex, then tightened his grip.   
  
'Did you want a tour?' Ignis said, to change the topic, and maybe Noct would forget how badly he'd been crying, broken down.   
  
'Yeah, okay.'   
  
He showed Noct the bedroom, with the walk-in wardrobe, and his new clothes and spectacles. He showed him the bathroom, and Noct smelt the soap and shampoos, scrunching up his nose in distaste. Noct took a drink out of the fridge in the kitchen and opened a pack of snacks – Ignis took one when offered, and was relieved to the point of light-headedness that it didn't make him throw up. In the study Noct looked at his books and peered out of the window, lifting himself with his hands on the windowsill to see out down to the ground.   
  
'Nice,' he said, when they were back in the sitting room, on the sofa. Noct turned so that he was lying against Ignis, then slid down so he his head and shoulders were on Ignis' lap. 'I can't believe you have all this to yourself.'   
  
'It's very big,' Ignis said, and stroked Noct's hair.   
  
'Mm. Dad said you were moving here because you couldn't live with your uncle any more. How come?'   
  
Ignis continued stroking. 'I don't know,' he said, after a moment.   
  
Noct turned in Ignis' lap, so he was on his back, staring up at Ignis. 'I'm not stupid,' he said. 'I know something's wrong. Is your uncle okay?'   
  
'I'm not sure,' Ignis said, but it came out a whisper.   
  
Noct sat up, moving close to Ignis, so he was all but sitting in his lap. 'Specs. What's up?'   
  
He sounded upset. He sounded scared, and unsure, and all the things Ignis knew were unforgivable to let Noct feel, let alone make him feel. He looped his arm around Noct and pulled him in to sit on his lap properly, and Noct let him. But he didn't know if he could tell Noct the truth. Regis hadn't. But he'd find out sooner or later, surely? Didn't other people know? Silvia knew, and Tristitia knew, and the doctor knew. His uncle knew, and the lawyers, and the other people in the room.   
  
'Please tell me,' Noct said.   
  
Ignis shook his head. Should he tell Noct to ask his dad? What if that made Regis angry with the both of them?   
  
'Maybe later,' he said, and then wished he hadn't.   
  
They sat and watched the cooking programme, which was another kind of competition, but friendlier this time. Noct didn't try to pry any more. Ignis wondered if he should get their astronomy book out, but he was tired, and upset, and he didn't think he could manage to make Noct happy like this, not even with _The Celestial Menagerie_. And besides, he didn't want to ruin the book by reading it when they were both upset. He was exhausted, heartsore.   
  
Noct fell asleep easily. He always had, and now even more so, after his injury. Ignis put the TV on mute and lay down, resting his head and shoulders on a plush cushion, wriggling a little so he was curled around Noct. Noct accepted the change without complaint, as Ignis had known he would, and lay down within the curve of Ignis' body, pushing himself back so they were pressed tight together. His breathing evened out and he was asleep after barely a few minutes, hands lax in front of his face. Ignis breathed in the familiar scent of his hair, the shampoo he always used, mixing with the foreign smell of the sofa, the room, the faint smell of the breakfast still sitting in the kitchen. He looped an arm around Noct and grasped Noct's hand in his own.


	6. Chapter 6

He woke up to the sound of the door, yet again. Noct was wriggling, half-awake but still not prepared to rouse entirely. Ignis squeezed out from behind him, scrubbed at his eyes, and went to open the door. He needed to apologise for not accepting lunch.  
  
It wasn't someone from the kitchens; it was Noct's governess.  
  
'Good evening,' she said, and smiled, if a little wanly. 'Is Prince Noctis with you?'  
  
Ignis tensed, frozen in the lie half-formed on his tongue. He hadn't been allowed to go see Noct, but did that mean Noct had been told not to visit him, and would get in trouble for being here? Should he have sent Noct away? She couldn't see Noct on the sofa behind him, could she?  
  
Before he could manage an answer, Noct's governess shook her head. 'Don't worry,' she said. 'He's not going to be in trouble. But I do need to collect him to get changed before dinner with his father.'  
  
Noct was already sitting up. 'With dad?' he said, yawning and clambering on the arm of the chair, kneeling there while he braced himself on the backrest. 'He didn't tell me that.'  
  
'I believe he had his schedule unexpectedly freed up,' Noct's governess said. 'Now come on, let's get you cleaned up.'  
  
Noct scrambled over the sofa's arm and up to the door. The loss of him, the eagerness on his face, hurt.  
  
'Ignis,' Noct's governess said. 'I understand you're also invited. You should tidy yourself up and come over as soon as you're ready.'  
  
Ignis stared at her; he felt like he'd missed a step on the staircase, tripped off a curb he hadn't realised was there. 'Oh,' he said, then caught himself. 'Of course.'  
  
Noct was bundled out of the rooms before Ignis could say anything more, and his governess after him almost as quick. Ignis closed the door and went back into the sitting room, suddenly very aware of how big it was, how much empty space it held around him. It was almost seven o'clock, and he remembered that Tristitia had said she'd be visiting him. But he couldn't do anything about that, because it wasn't as if he could say no when Regis had told him to come.  
  
He washed and got changed into one of the outfits Regis had given him, and, making sure his key was in his pocket, went to stand in the corridor. It was only when he was standing there, hand on the doorknob, that he realised he hadn't been told where dinner was being held. Regis' rooms? Noct's? Another dining room elsewhere?  
  
He shut the door, which clicked, locking automatically. He double checked he had the key, even though it was too late if he didn't. Then he hesitated, shifting from foot to foot. Should he go look for where they were having dinner? Could he text or call Noct and ask him?  
  
In the end he was saved by Noct, coming down the hallway, presumably from his own room. His face lit into a wide open grin – mouth split side, eyes squinting, and cheeks bunching up in a way they never really did any more. Ignis pushed away the strange, unpleasant feeling inside him. He wanted Noct to be happy. He should be happy to see Noct this happy, whatever the cause.  
  
Noct grabbed his hand and tugged him along behind him, and Ignis was faintly glad for that, because his feet were dragging even with Noct pulling him forwards. He could feel his heart start to beat hard as they came closer to Regis' rooms, sweat prickling under his arms, on his palms, on the small of his back. He hadn't eaten since yesterday and hunger churned inside him, but even hungry he was sure he wouldn't be able to eat. Even in front of Noct and Regis. Especially in front of Noct and Regis.  
  
Noct entered Regis' rooms without a key – had Regis left his door unlocked, somehow? Maybe Ignis could do that with his own, for when Noct wanted to visit – and dragged Ignis in behind him.  
  
Regis was sitting on the armchair, reading a sheet of paper. He looked up and smiled, and put the paper down as Noct broke away from Ignis to rush towards him; Regis leant forwards and reached out to hug Noct, bring him in closer. Noct clambered onto the chair, planting one knee between Regis' legs and the other squashed between Regis' leg and the side of the chair, throwing himself full-body into the hug. Regis' broad hand was on Noct's back, just below his shoulder blades. Noct had his arms thrown around Regis' shoulders, and Ignis couldn't look away even though he felt sick, the sight of them making him more and more sick the longer he looked.  
  
Then Noct pulled back, half-clambering off the chair. 'Ignis is here,' he said, bright, like Regis hadn't been the one to invite Ignis in the first place. Like he couldn't have noticed Ignis standing there by the door by himself.  
  
'Indeed,' Regis said, and turned to look at Ignis. He smiled. Ignis looked away quickly.  
  
'Ignis, come here, please.' Regis' voice was light, but it was clearly wasn't a question. Ignis forced his feet into movement, and that he didn't stumble on his way, hiding half behind Noct like a coward, was a dull surprise to himself.  
  
Regis put his hand on Noct's back. 'Noct, I'm sure you're aware that something has happened, and that Ignis is going to be living with us now,' he said. 'You will, of course, hear about it from all over the Citadel very shortly, but I wanted to announce it first. Ignis has presented as omega. I am alpha, as you know. Perhaps what you don't know is that alphas and omegas always live best when they're close by each other. They are naturally very good friends. Which is why Ignis has come to live here.'  
  
Ignis thought, Noct couldn't be so sheltered, even at ten years old, to not know that there was more than it than what Regis said. Noct frowned, and glanced back at Ignis. He was remembering Ignis being upset, Ignis thought. He knew his mother had been omega; that alphas and omegas were always represented in stories as lovers, mothers and fathers, romantic couples. He was trying to connect the pieces but didn't know how.  
  
'It's the safest place for him,' Regis said. 'His uncle and I decided he couldn't look after Ignis, and Ignis should come here instead. Ignis being omega... well, omegas are very rare. A lot of people would be interested in having him live with them, instead. This is where he'll be safest and happiest.'  
  
Noct sent Ignis another look, wide-eyed. His prior joy was entirely gone, and Ignis felt a rush of something hot and angry for Regis to have done that. 'I'll be much closer to you, too,' Ignis said. 'You can sleep over in my room. It'll be fun, Noct.'  
  
'Well,' Regis said, before Noct could answer. 'We'll have to see about that. But it's true that you'll be much closer and be able to spend more time together.'  
  
Noct still looked between them, caught in a trap of uncertainty. When Regis put out a hand to ruffle his hair, Noct shifted out of the way.  
  
The previous mood, with Noct's laughter and Regis' smile, was gone. Ignis wanted to sink into the ground, stop existing.  
  
They went for dinner. Noct didn't say anything to Ignis, even as they walked side by side to the dining room.  
  
‘Noct,’ Regis said, as they sat down, ‘you know I always want to spend time with you. I can’t because of my duties, but if I could, I’d spend every day with you.’  
  
Ignis stared down into his plate.  
  
‘I – I know that, dad,’ Noct was saying, and Ignis wished he could avoid hearing the happiness pulled out of Noct’s voice – unwillingly? – as easily as he could avoid seeing it on his face. Then he felt bad, because he ought to be happy that Noct was happy.  
  
‘So, tell me, how was the aquarium?’  
  
It was an easy question, Ignis thought, that would almost always guarantee enthusiasm from Noct. For all that Regis was barely around his son, he still knew Noct very well.  
  
He listened and occasionally prompted Noct to talk; Ignis sat there and listened, drinking his soup quietly. There were things Noct was saying that Ignis found he couldn’t remember at all. When Noct turned to him and said, ‘In the tank with the water goblins, remember? And–’ Ignis smiled and nodded and didn’t remember at all.  
  
Maybe being omega meant he would be a worse friend for Noct. Maybe it meant he’d be a bad advisor and they’d get someone else to be Noct’s friend and advisor and Ignis became just Regis’ bonded and nothing else.  
  
‘Noct,’ Ignis said, breaking in in a moment where Noct had stopped for a breath. ‘There’s a new fishing pond opened in the sea-side park. We should go.’  
  
For a second, Ignis was afraid Noct’s confusion and indignation at the abrupt change would win out over his enthusiasm. Then Noct smiled again, and nodded, and looked eagerly to his father. ‘Yeah! Dad, can we?’  
  
‘Why don’t we go, just us two?' Regis said. 'I believe I know a trick or two about fishing that I can teach you.’  
  
Ignis felt his face go red, flushing; his heart beat hard enough he was sure Noct and Regis could hear it.  
  
‘What about Ignis? I want him to come.’  
  
‘I’m sorry, Noct,’ Ignis said, quickly, ‘I guess I'm not allowed. But you can still go with your father.’  
  
‘How do you know? You just said – you haven’t even asked yet.’ Noct's voice was a mask of confusion. He was looking between Ignis and his father, brow furrowed, trying to work out what was happening. The beginning of stubborn upset was working into the line of his mouth; Ignis didn’t dare look to see what Regis' expression was doing.  
  
‘Ignis,’ Regis said, and the warning was clear in his voice. Ignis didn’t care. He could feel his face burning red, his hands trembling with adrenaline.  
  
‘I’m your father’s bonded,’ Ignis said. ‘I belong to him, now, not my uncle. So I don't need to ask him, just your dad.’  
  
‘Ignis, enough. You don’t belong to me; I look after you because your uncle was unable to. If you’re in a bad mood because you’re tired, perhaps you can finish eating and go to bed now.’  
  
Ignis turned his head to face Regis, though he still couldn't make his eyes meet his. He stared at the top button of Regis' shirt and said, ‘Will you come collect me afterwards so you can–‘  
  
‘Ignis Scientia!’ Regis’ voice, raised in a shout, drowned out Ignis’. The silence afterwards was broken by Noct’s wet sniffling as he started to cry. Ignis felt his own eyes burn; his whole body seemed to tremble. He put his cutlery down before he dropped it.  
  
‘Ignis,' Regis said, 'if you’re going to make up nonsense and upset Noct, you can go now. Not a single word more. Out. Go to bed; you are not to use your phone or computer until I say otherwise.’  
  
Even though he'd meant to do this, meant to get this reaction, Ignis had started to cry properly: heaving sobs, uncontrollable. He got up too quickly to see what Noct was doing, how upset he'd made him – and even if he hadn't, he couldn't see through his tears, shut eyes, anyway. He just wanted to escape, go somewhere quiet and safe, away from Regis’ anger.  
  
Outside Regis’ rooms he almost turned the wrong way – wrong because it would have led him back to his uncle’s rooms. His room. For an aching, awful moment, he thought about going that way anyway.  
  
He turned and went to his rooms down the hall, that belonged to him as Regis’ omega bonded and not him as his uncle’s nephew. It was only a short way, but the stretch of silent corridor felt like miles. He fumbled with the key to unlock the door, and couldn't find the light switch in the dark, his eyes still swimming. Tears were hot on his face, making his skin itch. He got changed into his pyjamas and brushed his teeth, heart thumped in his chest, waiting for Regis to come in, start shouting at him again, put his hands on him again and–  
  
Ignis crawled into bed, still crying, body hitching with the vain effort to keep himself silent. Why was he always crying? He shouldn't cry – only babies cried, crying was stupid and useless and–  
  
Some time later, after Ignis had sobbed himself into exhaustion then drifted off to an uneasy sleep, he woke up to the sound of the door being snapped shut.  
  
He heard the flick of the light switch, and footsteps approaching – heavy, adult, a man, Regis – and buried his head under the covers, squeezing his eyes as tight shut as they would go.  
  
'Ignis,' Regis said, stopping by the side of the bed and turning on the bedside table lamp. His voice was bland, without inflection. 'I'm very disappointed in you. You behaved extremely badly and upset Noct a great deal. I don't know what you were thinking, but I hope realise how poorly you treated him.'  
  
Ignis didn't say anything. He didn't move. He tried to hold his breath, to turn into a stone and stop existing, but he only made himself breathe harder and faster than he had been before.  
  
'Ignis, please come out from there and stop being so childish. As my omega bonded you cannot act like this. You're not a child any more.'  
  
Ignis didn't move. He knew he ought to, knew he had to, but his limbs had all frozen up and weren't doing anything at all.  
  
The covers pulled back; a wash of cold air enveloping him. 'I'm going to have to punish you,' Regis said. 'I didn't want to think I had to, but your appalling behaviour means it's necessary.'  
  
Ignis flinched as Regis' hands rolled him over, onto his back, and pulled down his pyjama bottoms. There was a moment when Ignis' legs – tensed, not working at all – stopped Regis from pulling off the bottoms from his bent knees, his legs crossed at the ankle. Then Regis made a dissatisfied, irritated sound, and yanked them off, jerking them over Ignis' feet hard enough to hurt.  
  
He pulled off Ignis' shirt, undoing a few buttons then forcing it up over his head, yanking his arms upright to get it over and off them.  
  
'I don't know why you're being so childish and silly now, when you were so good last night,' Regis said. His voice was even worse than before, angrier, a tightness that made Ignis think unwillingly of sharp, bared teeth.  
  
He couldn't reply. His mind was a mess of broken thoughts, half-formed and dropped and nothing connecting. He couldn't move – not to help Regis undress him, not to fight him as Regis sat down and hefted him with his hands under Ignis' armpits, pulling him up and over his lap.  
  
Regis was still wearing trousers, smooth, crisp fabric. He lay Ignis over his lap, face down, his legs under Ignis' belly. Ignis realised what he was doing only a second before his hand came down on Ignis' bum, hard.  
  
The blow shook him, seemed to jar the thoughts all clogged up in Ignis' head, making them shatter and fall apart into dust, or nothingness. Pain shot through him, hard and jarring, breaking a wordless cry from Ignis' open mouth. Regis' hand descended in another strike.  
  
A second cry tore itself loose, even worse than the first. Ignis put his hands over his mouth, but couldn't stop the third as Regis struck him again, then again, the same spot in quick succession. Ignis' body burnt, sharp, agonising; he tried to wriggle forwards, away, but Regis' other hands landed on the nape of his neck, gripped him with his fingers wrapped around all the way to over Ignis' throat, and held him in place.  
  
'I've given up everything for Lucis,' Regis said, hard and flat, and punctuated himself with further slaps, Ignis muffled sobs. 'I'm giving up everything. Am I allowed nothing for myself? Can I not be allowed to want and have just one thing?'  
  
The pain scraped through Ignis' body, burning hot with each new blow, and the hand on his neck gripped harder and harder.  
  
'Well, Ignis?' Regis said, voice a barely concealed snarl. 'Are you going to say I can't even have this?'  
  
Ignis sobbed, and couldn't answer, even though the blockage in his throat had been shaken loose. He didn't know what Regis wanted from him; he didn't understand what Regis was asking, much less know the correct answer.  
  
'You've upset Noct,' Regis said. 'You've made me angry. And what for? What was the point of your little rebellion, there?'  
  
Ignis stuffed his fingers into his mouth to try and stifle himself, the sharp, gulping sobs and whines, sharp, broken little noises falling out from his mouth.  
  
Then, the slaps slowed. Regis left his hand on Ignis' skin, burning hot, and rubbed him gently. He lifted his hand and struck Ignis again, then again, and then he left his hand there.  
  
He let out a long breath. He raised his hand, and Ignis tensed up; Regis adjusted his grip on Ignis' neck, shoving his thumb into the place he'd bitten the night before, his fingers into the spot on the other side, and Ignis felt his body betray him, go limp and loose and helpless. The suddenness of it was worse, somehow, than the pain – the loss of even the ability to control his own body, make himself move, even if just to tense up.  
  
Regis brought his hand down again, and the force of the blow jerked Ignis forwards. He cried out at the pain, the helplessness, lying on Regis' lap, held there with just one hand. Regis stroked him, his hand smoothing over Ignis' bum, his thighs, his lower back. Then Regis sighed again.  
  
'Do you understand why I have to do this?' he said. 'I didn't want to start our relationship like this, but you need to learn, and behaviour like yours was today is not acceptable.'  
  
He struck again, the sound of it ringing in Ignis' ears, like a gunshot, then again without pausing. Ignis' hands crawled up slowly, weakly, to cling at Regis' hand on the back of his neck.  
  
'I'm sorry,' Ignis said, finally finding his tongue, the words tumbling out of his mouth on a wet, broken exhale. 'I'm sorry – I won't do it again – I'm sorry.'  
  
Regis paused, then put his hand on Ignis' bum, cupping the curve of it and pressing firmly into its throbbing flesh. He sighed, and stoked Ignis' skin. 'I believe you,' he said, finally. 'Thank you for being honest, Ignis. Tomorrow, will you apologise to Noct as well?'  
  
'Yes,' Ignis said, gasping out the word.   
  
'All right. That's good enough. Let's finish up this unpleasantness, then, shall we? Just a few more, then we can put this behind ourselves and move on,' Regis said.  
  
His hand came down with a crack, and he stoked Ignis afterwards, gentle, like he were stroking something very fragile. He lifted his hand again, brought it down again, and Ignis shook with the force of it but nothing else; his body was still limp, dissolved, useless liquid on the inside. His skin was burning with the pain of the slaps, turned from an ache to sharp pain, immediate and awful.  
  
Another strike, then more petting. Another.  
  
'One last one,' Regis said, and Ignis cried weakly through it, unable to stop.  
  
Regis took his hand from Ignis' neck; Ignis curled up, every motion sparking new, additional pain through him. Regis lifted him into sitting, put him so he was sideways on his lap, and held him so he couldn't squirm away at the pain of being sat on his swollen, bruised bum.  
  
Regis tilted his head up and kissed him; mouth already open, Ignis couldn't stop his tongue pressing in, hot and slippery and tasting like wine and a wet, organic unpleasantness. His breath was still hitching and uneven, his lips crumpled and stiff and unwilling to do anything like kiss back, but Regis did not seem to mind.  
  
'There we go,' Regis said, pulling back a few inches, just enough to speak and have the words breathe into Ignis' open mouth. 'I'm not going to give you anything to help with the pain, because you need to remember that what you did was wrong. Do you understand that if you keep upsetting Noct you will not be allowed to work with him? I'm letting you stay on as training to be his advisor, but if being that as well as my bonded is too much for you, I will find someone else for Noct.'  
  
Ignis nodded. His eyes were closed; he flinched from the pain as he was shifted slightly on Regis' lap. The utter, wrenching relief of knowing that he was still to be Noct's advisor was cut through with the fear of being taken away from it. If he kept upsetting Noct, he'd be taken away.  
  
It was Regis upsetting Noct, not him, he thought, but he was too tired, in too much pain even for righteous anger.  
  
'Are we good to move on with the evening?' Regis asked, and Ignis nodded, then regretted it immediately, because he didn't want to do anything more except lie down, curl up, and go back to sleep. He didn't want anything to do with Regis.  
  
Regis gently pushed him off his lap, into standing, and then directed him around to crawl back on the bed. Every motion hurt. He felt like his skin was burning up, swollen, so tight it would split.  
  
'I know I can't fit so well, and I don't want to hurt you,' Regis said, clambering onto the bed beside Ignis, positioning him so he was kneeling, his bum in the air, his face in the mattress between his arms.  
  
'I'll wait however long it takes for you to get used to penetration,' he said, his voice soft and no longer angry at all. 'But until then, we can do things like this. Don't worry, this won't hurt.'  
  
The mattress moved as he got off it, and there was the sound again of undressing. Ignis hunched forwards, trying to cover his ears with his shoulders. It didn't work. He could still hear Regis, and the sound of his clothes, and his breathing. Ignis could feel his bum throbbing, pulses of pain like he was still being hit.  
  
The mattress dipped. There was the sound of something plastic, hard, a bottle being uncapped. Then something slick and wet, a rhythmic squelching.   
  
'You may have to brace yourself on the headboard,' Regis said, and there was the sound and heat of his body, and then the touch of his bare skin against the back of Ignis' thighs. 'Put your knees together, and lift your hips as high as possible.'  
  
Ignis did as he was told, breath hitching as the movement made his bum and hips burn with reignited pain.  
  
'I won't put my cock inside you,' Regis was saying, and Ignis tried to listen to his voice over the roar in his ears as his body froze up again, going stiff, rigid, like he'd read dead bodies going. 'It's going to go between your thighs, so try to squeeze your legs together as much as possible. Do you think you can do that?'  
  
Ignis wasn't sure, didn't know at all, but Regis didn't wait for a response or try force one out of him. He put his hands on Ignis' hips, gripping him firmly, holding him in place. He shuffled forwards, knees either side of Ignis', and his cock forced between Ignis' legs. His stomach hit Ignis' bum and Ignis jerked forwards, gasping a moan, but the hands on his hips dragged him back.  
  
'I'm sorry, Ignis; I know this is going to be uncomfortable,' Regis said, voice strained, rough. His cock was thick, hot, wet between Ignis' legs, sliding across his skin. 'I would prevent it if I could, because sex is a good, fun thing, but in this instance you really only have yourself to blame. But I'll try to be gentle.'  
  
He rocked back, then forwards, and at the same time pulled Ignis' hips back. The impact sent a shock of pain through Ignis, and he cried out, a hiccup of noise. Only his hands and forearms braced on the bed meant Ignis didn't collapse onto his face – he stayed with his hips up, knees beneath him. His spine arched, hands curling into claws in the sheets as Regis continued to rock back and forth, each thrust hitting the sore, swollen flesh of his bum.  
  
He wasn't beneath Regis, but Ignis felt crushed by him anyway – his hands, the force of his thrusts, the heat of his body. The hot slide of Regis' cock between Ignis' legs was a thick, solid weight, the tip of it bumping into his belly with every thrust and left a smear of something hot and wet. It rubbed against Ignis' own penis, dragging along the underside of it, the friction of it sickening, jolting something deep inside him. Ignis' thighs were wet, slippery, liquid running down his legs, smeared all over his skin.  
  
Just briefly Regis let go of Ignis' right hip to tap him on the thigh, then grasped his hip again. 'Legs together,' he said. He was breathing hard, and he groaned as Ignis adjusted his knees and squeezed his legs tight around Regis' cock.  
  
The slap of Regis' stomach against Ignis became a rhythm of pain, the beating heart of it. The slide of his cock on Ignis' skin was overwhelming. Regis grunted as he moved, letting go of Ignis' hip with one hand to brace himself on the mattress with the other, leaning down over Ignis, covering him. His other hand gripped Ignis' hip harder, as if to compensate, hauling him back and up even as he shoved Ignis forwards and down with each thrust.  
  
Ignis hadn't expected the uneven bump, the extra girth pushing his legs apart; he let his legs spread wider, trying to avoid it. Regis made an inarticulate noise, a groaned word, then said: 'Legs, Ignis.'  
  
Ignis realised it was his knot at the same time as Regis' hips jerked forwards, rough and hard. He put both hands on Ignis' hips again, dragging him backwards, and Ignis managed to squeeze his legs together despite the pain.  
  
Hot, thick liquid hit Ignis' chest and stomach in spurts, dripping off him onto the bed. The smell of it hit Ignis – sharp, chlorine, overwhelming – and he gagged.  
  
Regis groaned again, sighed, and leant back. His cock slipped from between Ignis' thighs, still hard and hot, smearing lubricant and semen on the inside of Ignis' legs. 'That was good,' he said, voice rough. 'Well done, Ignis.'  
  
The mattress dipped down, tipping Ignis over as Regis lay down heavily on his side. 'Here,' he said, and rolled Ignis over as well, so they were facing each other, Ignis eye-level with Regis' chest. Regis found Ignis' hand and moved it down his body to cover his cock, the knot, which was thick and swollen. He tightened his grasp around Ignis' hand, and Ignis' hand squeezed his knot.  
  
Regis groaned, low, raw satisfaction. 'Hold it,' he said, his hips rocking forwards an inch. 'That's perfect.'  
  
The liquid on Ignis' chest and belly was drying, starting to itch, but he didn't want to touch it. He was lying in it where it had dripped onto the covers. It felt slimy, cold now, congealing on him and seeping into his skin. Regis' hand touched his shoulder, just gently, and smoothed down his side. He cupped Ignis' bum, and Ignis squirmed at the pain of it.  
  
'This is going to bruise,' Regis said, and made a humming sound. 'I'm sorry I had to do that.'  
  
He wasn't sorry he did it, Ignis thought, trapped between Regis' hand and Regis' body, cock throbbing under Ignis' fingers. He ducked his head, because if Regis didn't see his face perhaps he might not think to kiss him again.  
  
'Tomorrow,' Regis said, 'I want you to apologise to Noct, and tell him that you didn't mean what you said. Is that clear?'  
  
'Yes,' Ignis said, because it was clear that that was what Regis wanted, and not that that was what he was going to do. Then Regis' hand moved, his thumb stroking Ignis' bum, and the small thread of defiance snapped. Regis would be listening in anyway, probably, and be there to correct him – punish him again – if he said anything else. Ignis brought his free hand up to cover his face; Regis pulled it away, and Ignis didn't fight him.  
  
He was crying again, it swelling up from nothingness, a gradual progression from tears to uneven breaths to hitching, hurting sobs. He could feel Regis' hand back on his shoulder, his arm, and hear Regis shush him as if trying to be soothing. The sobs made him feel sick deep in his belly, spreading out across the rest of his body like plant roots, infection. He was tired, his body hurt. He just wanted to go away, sleep, find somewhere safe, only there wasn't anywhere safe now. He wasn't allowed in his old room, his uncle's suite, any more. The aching longing for his own room, his bed, his books and computer and clothes all set out in their exact order, was a physical pain inside his chest, strangling in his throat.  
  
Slowly, and after a long time, Regis' knot started to go down. His cock softened, and Ignis held on to it, not wanting to find out what Regis' reaction would be if he took his hand away too early. He was still crying, head tucked down, muffling himself by turning his face into the covers.  
  
Regis rolled onto his back, and Ignis let go. He didn't react as Regis got up and went into the bathroom. His bed was sticky, dirty. He was sticky and dirty, all over his front and thighs, and his hand, where he'd held Regis' cock. He could feel the hair on his arms and legs prickle in the cold air. He listened to the sound of the shower, trying to distract himself from the way his bum ached and throbbed.  
  
What was he going to tell Noct? What had Regis already told him? Was he going to deny this, that he'd had sex with Ignis, and that he intended to have children with him? Noct would find out. Maybe by the time Noct found out he wouldn't think it was weird or wrong.  
  
Maybe Noct wouldn't think it was weird or wrong now. Maybe Ignis was causing trouble for no reason.  
  
It had to be wrong. His uncle hadn't wanted it. Adults didn't have sex with children.  
  
Except Regis did, and Regis was the king. Tristitia and Silvia and the doctor and nurses all thought it was okay. Maybe it was just his uncle who thought that they shouldn't be having sex, shouldn't hit children. Maybe it was his uncle who was weird and wrong and hadn't brought Ignis up right.  
  
Maybe Ignis just needed to get used to it and stop being so difficult.  
  
It didn't seem right. He didn't know. Surely Regis wouldn't do something wrong, because he was a good person, and he was the king. He was Noct's father. The king couldn't do anything wrong. And the law had said it was fine, and twelve was old enough, if he was omega and presented. Regis had told him he wasn't a child any more.  
  
Maybe it was because he was omega.  
  
By the time Regis came out of the bathroom, Ignis had stopped crying. He didn't flinch as Regis brushed his hand through Ignis' hair. 'Come on,' he said, and his voice sounded fond. 'Shower and teeth, then bed. I'll call someone up to change the sheets while you're in the bathroom.'  
  
The cover stuck to Ignis' skin as he crawled up and off the bed. He couldn't see his pyjamas, and didn't want to stop to look for them while Regis was standing there, watching him. He went into the bathroom and showered, scrubbing himself to get his skin clean. He could see the towel Regis had used, thrown into the laundry basket. The bottles of soap and shampoo and conditioner were already wet.  
  
His bum still hurt, and his thighs and lower back, too. His whole body ached in a way that the hot water didn't help.  
  
He didn't want to leave the shower, because it'd mean going back out to where Regis was waiting. Or possibly going out and finding someone changing the sheets on the bed, having just seen the mess he'd made, and he didn't have any pyjamas so he'd either be naked or with a towel wrapped around him, and that was almost just as bad.  
  
There was only so long he could stand under the pounding water, so he turned the shower off and dried himself, very carefully, telling himself that he had to be clean and it was only his imagination that was insisting he wasn't. He'd used hot water and soap and there was nothing visible on him – except the redness of his bum and around his hips where Regis had gripped – and there was no smell, and he couldn't feel anything different on his skin when he ran his hands over himself. But he could still feel it in his skin, and maybe he was just not able to see or smell it but everyone else would be able to.  
  
He was being stupid, he told himself, as he checked himself in the mirror. He looked normal and fine, if being skinny and pale and reddened was normal and fine. His eyes had big shadows under them, dark smears like bruises. His hair was wet and flattened over his forehead. He stared at himself and listened. He could hear something from the bedroom, but it wasn't voices, just indistinct noises, hard to tell what over the soft hum of the extractor fan. Someone changing the bed? Or Regis doing – what? He couldn't think of what Regis would be doing. He didn't particularly want to think.  
  
Brushing his teeth, he closed his eyes and didn't look in the mirror. Then he looked at all the soaps and moisturisers and things he wasn't quite sure what were – serum, cleansing oil, night lotion – reading the packaging and testing out the contents on his arms. He could still hear things in the bedroom, probably. Or maybe it was his imagination.  
  
He wondered what he'd say to Noct. Would he be able to repeat exactly what Regis had told him to say, and Regis would be satisfied with that bare minimum, and Noct would be satisfied with the contradiction and uncertainty?   
  
Would he have to tell Tristitia anything, or the nurses at the clinic? What about Silvia?  
  
When was he going to be able to go to his lessons again?   
  
He heard a door close and startled from the sound of it, then held himself still, trying to breathe quieter. Was there anyone still in the bedroom? His skin prickled, drying the last of the dampness from his body, cold.  
  
What if Regis started to wonder where he was and why he was taking so long? What if he knocked on the door, angry?  
  
Ignis opened the door, wrapped in a towel, and peered out. The bedroom was empty; the bed had been made, clean and neat and crisp. The bedroom door was closed.  
  
The anticlimax was almost worse than what he'd been imagining. Ignis looked around again, in case he'd been missing something – someone – but the room really was empty. So was the wardrobe, and the sitting room, which Ignis peeked into after getting changed and standing by the door, waiting for someone on the other side to betray themselves with a noise. The study was empty and dark. The kitchen was similarly deserted, and someone had taken away the tray with his breakfast on it.  
  
Ignis went to the front door and touched the doorknob. There still wasn't a way to lock it. Maybe he could sneak outside and leave, find somewhere secure, that he could lock. Could Noct's room lock? He couldn't remember. He didn't think so. But Noct was more important than he was, so maybe he had a lock when Ignis didn't. Suddenly the idea seemed hugely, massively important. But he couldn't go find out. He'd be in trouble if he were caught, and he'd almost definitely be caught.  
  
Going back inside, to his bedroom, Ignis paused for a moment. Where had he put his phone? He was sure it had been on the bedside table, where the charger was connected, but perhaps–  
  
It wasn't under the bed or around the table. It wasn't on the floor, or inside the drawer of the table. It wasn't in the sitting room, or study, or bathroom, or kitchen.  
  
Ignis went back into the bedroom, and had another look around his bed. Regis must have taken it, then. He had said Ignis wasn't allowed to use it. He mustn't have wanted Ignis to talk to Noct before he apologised and said what Regis wanted him to say. If he'd had his phone he could easily tell Noct whatever he wanted to. He'd be caught, of course, but–  
  
He'd just wanted to know if Noct's door had a lock. The shadows around him, the large white walls and high ceiling, the yellow glow from his lamp, all seemed to loom over him, squash him down from all sides. He could barely breathe.  
  
There wasn't anything left to do. He had no homework. Maybe he could read a book, but his heart was thumping hard in his chest and his breath whistling through his throat, and he didn't think he could stand the sight of a book, whatever it was on.  
  
He thought of _The Celestial Menagerie_ , sitting on the bookcase, placed there like it were just the same as any of his other books. He could learn from it, to teach Noct. He could read it so much he'd eventually be able to know every word by heart, and Noct wouldn't have to read or study to know about the stars, he'd only have to ask Ignis.  
  
Ignis' eyes burnt. He couldn't. Not now. He'd do it later, but not now.  
  
He clambered half into the bed, one knee on the mattress, hands fisted into the rumpled sheets. He hesitated, and found he couldn't make himself move forwards, onto the bed fully. He didn't want to lie down, not where – it was clean, but–  
  
Grasping the duvet he pulled it from the bed, and dragged it on the floor behind him to the wardrobe. It was a stupid, childish thing to do, he knew. He'd be told off, and people would look at him in disappointment. They'd laugh at him, and tell him he needed to act his age. He was going to be Noct's advisor. He needed to act properly, and not sleep on the floor of the wardrobe, in a corner, huddled up with his duvet wrapped around him like a cocoon.  
  
Maybe he wasn't going to be Noct's advisor any more, anyway. Maybe he'd just be Regis' omega.  
  
Regis would definitely hate this, too. Maybe he'd get rid of Ignis as well. Ignis pulled himself up to limp into the bedroom to turn off the light, then scrambled back into his nest. He closed the wardrobe door and squashed himself back into the corner. Inside it was pitch black, not even a crack of light coming from the door frame. It was perfectly quiet, except his own body breathing and heart beating and the slight churning of his stomach. Every tiny movement sounded excessively loud.  
  
Ignis buried his head under the covers. Every sound became louder. The air was humid, hot, hard to breathe in. And he still didn't know if Noct's door locked from the inside.  
  
This would be the second time in a row he hadn't said goodnight in almost as long as he could remember. Noct didn't always reply, but he'd always said it, or sent it over text or email.  
  
Did Noct know Ignis didn't have his phone? Would he miss Ignis' good-night text, or would he not care at all? Perhaps he wouldn't even notice.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, Ignis pulled himself from the mess of his covers and tugged it all back to the bed, which he made as best he could. His bum and thighs still hurt – how long until they didn't? Days? Weeks? He didn't want to check what it looked like. It hurt, but Regis wouldn't hit him hard enough to bruise; surely he wouldn't. Regis was the king, and Noct's father. He didn't hit people. Still, Ignis got changed with his eyes closed, and didn't try to sit down.  
  
Without anything to do, his stomach churning at the idea of lying on his front on the bed, he ended up standing in the sitting room. What next, then? Would Silvia or Tristitia return to tell him what to do? Would he be allowed to go to his lessons? Regis had said he'd be able to see Noct, if only to apologise to him. But when? Before Noct's classes, or after? Over lunch, or Noct's mid-afternoon break?  
  
Would he get breakfast again? He wondered if they'd brought food up for him last evening and wondered why he hadn't been there to take it, like he hadn't taken lunch. He wondered if they'd report his not eating to someone. Would it be Silvia or Tristitia visiting him next.  
  
He wasn't sure whom he'd prefer.  
  
He realised that Tristitia had told him she'd visit him, but he'd been having dinner with Regis when she'd meant to arrive. Had she knocked and gone away again when he hadn't answered, or had she unlocked his door and gone in to find him? Had she searched for him in the wardrobe, under the bed, in the bathroom? Had she looked through all his things?  
  
Or had she known he'd been with Regis and Noct, and not shown up at all? Was she going to be angry he hadn't told her? How angry? Would she tell Regis that he'd been bad?  
  
He was hungry, he decided, after drifting from one end of his rooms to the other. He'd barely eaten anything of dinner last night, and before that he'd last eaten a quick lunch at the aquarium, with Noct. The last large meal he'd had was the day before that, at the grilled meat place his uncle hated.  
  
A while later, breakfast was delivered, the same as the day before. 'Is this to your liking?' the man said – a different one than last time. 'We can prepare more things if you want, though you'll have to get Ms. Tristitia to okay it.'  
  
'This is fine,' Ignis said, again, as again reflex took over. 'Thank you.'  
  
He shut the door. Maybe when he saw Noct today he could ask if Noct's door locked – if they were alone – or even try and see for himself, if he went into Noct's room.  
  
Putting the tray of food on the kitchen counter, he left it and went to wash his face and hands in the bathroom. He was sure he was hungry, but he didn't want to eat. He wasn't sure he could stomach eating anything, and yet, he knew he was hungry. He had to be hungry. He'd hardly eaten anything at all in days. So why didn't he want to eat? The urge to check his phone flickered in the back of his mind, making his hands itch. What if Noct had sent him texts and was thinking Ignis was ignoring him? Ignis paced another round of his rooms, looking out onto the courtyard, where it was empty and still raining. Then he went back to the kitchen where he stood and gulped down his breakfast. After the first mouthful he realised he was hungry – desperately hungry – and thirty, too. He got a bottle of water out of the fridge and gave himself brain freeze as he drank it too fast.  
  
He finished within minutes, staring at the empty bowls and plate, the scraped pots of jams. Then he fled into the bathroom, fell to his knees in front of the toiler, and threw up. He choked and gagged as his breakfast came up in chunks and sticky liquid, grains of rice he hadn't chewed, pieces of toast scraping the inside of his throat like glass. It scorched his throat, burnt up his nose, ran down his chin and splattered into the toilet bowel.  
  
The smell filled the bathroom, sharp and acrid, acidic. His vomit got onto his clothes and made them smell as well, got bits of food in the creases of his shirt, staining the fabric.  
  
He knelt on the floor and the position hurt, and throwing up hurt, like someone had grabbed his insides with both hands and were wringing them out, yanking them. His eyes were filled up with tears – no wonder, he thought raggedly, he was so thirsty if he kept crying out anything he drank – and his heartbeat roared in his ears.  
  
The sound of the door knocking came only very distantly, over everything else, and Ignis sobbed as his stomach heaved, tight and agonising, nothing left to come out.  
  
Gods, let it not be Regis, he thought, and clutched at the toilet seat in an attempt to push himself to his feet. His head spun, his vision fading into black as the head rush crawled through him. He flushed the toilet – only there was vomit all along the sides above where the water came out, and on the seat, and he wiped at it with toilet paper before flushing the toilet again. It only smeared the vomit around, and didn't help.  
  
In the mirror, he looked terrible – white, pasty, face sheened with sweat and coated with the drying, itching remains of his breakfast, yellow liquid and bits of food. His hair was stuck in every direction. His shirt had spots of dampness and tiny lumps of rice sticking to it.  
  
He turned away, tossing his shirt into the laundry basket and sticking as much of his face under the tap as possible. He could still feel the vomit on his skin, itching, all over his mouth and cheeks, chin and neck. The water was cold enough to make him gasp and splutter, but he didn't have time to adjust it.  
  
'Ignis?' It was Silvia. 'Are you there?'  
  
He didn't have any clean clothes in the bathroom. And he was sure he'd left the door open between bedroom and sitting room, so if he went out Silvia would almost definitely see him.  
  
The idea of being caught shirtless made him want to throw up all over again. His stomach clenched hard, his throat bobbing. The taste in his mouth, the acid stench coating his nose, swallowed him up. He couldn't – he needed to – he fumbled with the lock on the bathroom door, fingers turning useless in his desperate haste.  
  
'Ignis,' Silvia said, on the other side of the bathroom door. 'You're due to be in your mathematics class now. Are you ready to go?'  
  
His class? The memory of Tristitia saying that he could resume his lessons hit him and his knees almost buckled. He'd forgotten. He was late for lessons, and Silvia knew he was late. How late? What was the time? He'd fall behind, they'd be disappointed in him, they'd tell him he definitely couldn't be Noct's advisor. He was shaking. His throat clenched, aching. They'd take Noct from him.  
  
He couldn't do it. He couldn't do this. It was only the second day and he'd failed at everything – failed Regis and his uncle and Noct and now even Silvia and his tutors, and what good was he if he couldn't even do this? What would happen to him if no one wanted him? Not even for his body, omega. Noct couldn't stop them if they wanted to take him away.  
  
'Ignis, I'm going to ask you to come out,' Silvia said. 'If you're not out in ten seconds, I'm coming in.'  
  
He couldn't manage to speak even just to tell her not to. He was breathing far too fast. He was going to be sick again.  
  
The impact of his heels on his bum as he collapsed down into a crouch drove a whine, gasped, from him. He rocked forwards, off his heels, catching himself on his hands, and trembled there on the floor as the lock to the bathroom turned and Silvia stepped in.  
  
Covering his chest with his arms, wrapping them around himself, he fell forwards until his forehead hit the tile floor. He couldn't breathe. He needed to get up, go to his lessons, but he couldn't breathe and he was still shirtless in front of Silvia, his bare skin crawling under her gaze.  
  
He was aware, peripherally, of her crouching down beside him: her black heels, the fabric of her skirt, the scent of her perfume.  
  
She was going to take Noct away from him. She was looking at him, at his naked skin. He thought he would die just from that.  
  
'Up,' Silvia said. 'You won't be in trouble if you get up now.'  
  
The promise dangled in front of him like a blessing from the astrals. He couldn't move his arms to grasp for it. He couldn't do it, so why struggle and drag it all out even further? He wanted it to be over. He didn't want it, any of it.  
  
'Ignis,' Silvia said, sharper. 'Get up now or I'll be forced to inform the king of this.'  
  
The threat did what the promise didn't. Ignis found himself pulling himself into sitting, wincing as he knocked his heels against his bum, then clambered to his feet. The world had suddenly gone very distant, cool and smooth and feeling not particularly real any more. He kept his arms wrapped around himself, but it didn't do any good.  
  
He didn't look at Silvia, but he could hear the displeasure in her voice. 'Are you in pain?'  
  
He didn't answer, didn't move except to tuck his fingers into the pockets of his trousers, left hand in right pocket, right in left, crossing over his body and pressing his forearms into his stomach. He still smelt. He needed to wash properly and brush his teeth. His arms were pressing against his nipples, and the memory of Regis touching them, pressing his mouth against them, made his stomach turn. He wished Silvia couldn't see him, the naked stretches of his skin, but there wasn't anything he could do to stop her. He was trembling, and he couldn't stop.  
  
They stood together in silence for a moment. Then Silvia moved away, back out of the bathroom.  
  
'Have a shower,' she said, 'and finish getting ready. You're excused from mathematics but I expect you to be in all of your next classes. Do not be late.'  
  
He didn't respond. He still felt insubstantial, like a soap bubble.  
  
Silvia left him, and Ignis listened at the bathroom door for the clicking sound of the front door closing. Then he brushed his teeth and got into the shower, scrubbing at his prickling skin. Out of the shower – because he couldn't be late for his next lesson, only he didn't know what the time was so maybe he was already late – and wrapped in a towel, he listened at the door to his bedroom. Maybe Silvia had come back, or Tristitia arrived, or Regis. He couldn't hear anyone on the other side. And it wasn't as if he could hide in the bathroom for the rest of his life.  
  
The bedroom was empty, again. He looked at the clock, feeling relief puddle inside him. Even from here, a much longer walk than from his uncle's, he have a lot of time to spare before his next lesson. Getting his bag, he made sure he had the key to his rooms, and his books and pen and pencils, his text books and exercise books. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and tidied up the crockery on the tray from breakfast, stacking them neatly. He looked around, double checked his bag had everything he needed, then checked again standing in front of the door. Then he went to his next lesson, standing by the door until it was time to start.  
  
Normally he had a packed lunch to take to his classes, and if he didn't he'd return to his uncle's to get something. Now he didn't have anything but the bottle of water, and he didn't want to go back to his rooms. The thought of getting his uncle in trouble for being near him made him feel queasy, panicky, and he didn't have the key to his uncle's suite any more anyway. Hadn't they said they'd make him a packed lunch? Or was that just another thing he was misremembering?  
  
He'd thrown up his breakfast. Did that count as skipping another meal? He really ought to eat, he knew, and he ought to be hungry as well. He stood in the empty classroom and drank his water, small sips in case drinking too quickly made him throw up again.  
  
When he came back to his room – limping, after spending all day squirming on his seat – after classes, he found Silvia perched on the armchair in the sitting room. She looked up from her phone, which she wordlessly slid into her pocket.  
  
'Tristitia will be here in the evening to check how you're doing, since she didn't see you last night,' she said, standing and making her way to the door. Ignis sidestepped to let her pass. 'King Regis wishes to let you know he expects you to meet him outside Prince Noctis' rooms at quarter to six.'  
  
Ignis sidled around her and went to the dining table, where he put his bag. He'd been given homework, but not much.  
  
'Ignis.' Silvia's voice was sharp. 'I expect you to acknowledge me when I speak to you.'  
  
He turned his head slightly and looked at her from the corner of his eyes. 'Okay,' he said.  
  
'No, that's not good enough. Do it properly or I'm about to get very angry.'  
  
Ignis turned, standing to face her fully, and inclined his head. 'I am to meet King Regis outside Prince Noctis' rooms at quarter to six,' he said. 'I understand, Ms. Silvia. I will be there.'  
  
He watched as Silvia pursed her lips, narrowing her dark eyes. His heart thumped, his palms gone sweaty.  
  
'Make sure you do,' she said, and turned and left.  
  
It was twenty-five minutes until then. What would he say to Noct? Would Regis be there all the time, listening to what he said?  
  
He was hungry, dizzily so. He didn't want to eat. There were the snacks in the cupboard but he didn't want them.  
  
He went to stand outside Noct's door at half past five. The doorknob looked, from the outside, to be the same as his own. But maybe it was different on the inside. Surely they wouldn't give Noct a door that he couldn't lock from the inside.  
  
Seventeen minutes later, Noct appeared, and, just behind him, Regis. Regis had his hand on Noct's shoulder, and Ignis' eyes stuck to it. By the time they'd approached, Ignis made himself look away, bright, itching panic making him want to claw Regis' hand from anywhere near Noct.  
  
'Good evening, Ignis,' Regis said, mild. Noct looked at him up through his thick eyelashes, but didn't say anything.  
  
'Good evening,' Ignis said, obedient, and stood back as Regis opened the door. He waited to be invited in before he entered, and took his time removing his shoes and putting on his house slippers.  
  
Regis and Noct were sitting on the sofa; Ignis stood in front of them, almost perching on the armchair before remembering not to. 'Noct,' Regis said. 'Ignis has something he'd like to say to you, concerning last night.'  
  
Then they were both looking at him. Ignis felt his breath leave him all at once – then he took another breath, and held it.  
  
'I'm sorry, Noct,' he said, 'and Regis. I'm sorry for causing trouble last night. I didn't mean anything I said.'  
  
Both of them looked at him. Ignis looked at Noct, holding his gaze, face straight.  
  
Noct's expression was closed, formal, the sort he held when he was meeting various important people and had to behave himself, or when he was too tired and not in the sort of place where he could flop over and yawn and close his eyes to nap. 'Thank you,' he said, a small, polite murmur.  
  
It felt, absurdly, like a play, a game they were acting out parts to. Ignis glanced at Regis, wondering if he wanted any more, or if he was going to force something more considering how excessively and obviously fake Ignis and Noct were being. There wasn't anything. Regis was frowning but not in an angry way. Then he nodded, and reached into his pocket to take something out and hold out to Ignis.  
  
'Ignis, here's your phone back. I expect you were tired and upset yesterday, which is why you said what you did. And I know it's a big change, moving away from your uncle, but you really need to control yourself better. If you want to continue working with my son and I, then you'll need to do better in the future.'  
  
'Thank you,' Ignis said, and took his phone. He slid it into his pocket. 'I promise I'll do better.'  
  
If Regis thought that Ignis was making fun of him, or making empty promises, he didn't show it. Instead he reached out to pat Noct on the head and turned to leave. 'I need to go, now, but I'll see you boys later,' he said. 'Ignis, I'm glad you decided to be mature about this.'  
  
As soon as he was out of the room, Noct turned his eyes on Ignis. 'Specs,' he said. 'What's happening?'  
  
Regis loved Noct and would not, Ignis thought, listen in on his conversations. But that made his quick acceptance of Ignis' apology even more confusing. 'What did he tell you?' Ignis said, instead of answering. He wanted to go sit down, wrap Noct up in his arms like he'd used to, but he didn't want to risk Noct seeing it if he winced. And he didn't know how to answer anyway.  
  
Noct got up, only to flop down again on the armchair, then sitting up straight. 'He said you were upset that you'd had to move away from your uncle,' he said. 'He said you were still getting used to being bonded to him, and being bonded could be difficult to begin with, but didn't say what being bonded was.' Noct looked at Ignis pointedly. 'So what is it? Why're you both acting so weird? It sounds – dunno.'  
  
It seemed stupid not to tell Noct when he'd find out sooner or later, from someone else. He had limited access to the internet, but even so he had to find out soon. But Regis had said Ignis would be taken from Noct if he upset him, and telling him the truth was going to upset him.  
  
Was that why he was fine with leaving the two of them together? He didn't mind if Noct got another advisor. Ignis was bonded to him and that couldn't be undone. If Ignis told Noct or not, Regis would still have what he wanted.  
  
'He told me he'd replace me with someone else, that you'd get another advisor, if I upset you again.'  
  
Noct stiffened immediately. 'He can't do that,' he said, bright and sharp, the clearest, hardest emotion Ignis had heard from him in a long time. 'He can't.'  
  
'He can,' Ignis said. 'He took me from my uncle already. I'm not allowed to even talk to him any more.'  
  
Noct's face went blank, then turned into a snarl. He jerked out of the chair like it had burnt him, and Ignis was sent stumbling back by the force at which Noct threw himself at him.  
  
'I don't care,' Noct said. His voice trembled. 'I don't care. You were sworn to me first. You're mine. You were sworn to me.'  
  
The truth of it struck Ignis, and he felt himself break, like a glass bauble, all at once. 'I know,' he said, without intending to. As he said it he knew he meant it fully and utterly anyway. 'I'm yours. I know.'  
  
Noct was, at least, distracted from his original question, Ignis thought as they clung to each other. He couldn't tell Noct the truth, or not all of it. He didn't want Noct looking at him and thinking of what Regis did to him. But Noct was going to find out one way or another.  
  
He belonged to Noct. It was okay because whatever happened, he belonged to Noct. They couldn't really take him away.  
  
'Noct,' Ignis said, small. 'Do you have anything to eat in your rooms? I'm really hungry.'  
  
Ignis ate the fruit that had been left in Noct's sitting room, a chocolate bar, and then, when dinner arrived, Noct told them to bring Ignis' dinner as well.  
  
'Why aren't you sitting down?' Noct asked, as he kicked his legs, sitting at the table and waiting for Ignis' dinner to arrive before starting to eat.  
  
Ignis glanced at Noct, then the door, wondering if they'd have time to finish talking about it before the person came with his dinner. 'Your father hit me,' he said, looking at Noct sideways. 'It hurts.'  
  
Noct opened his mouth, then shut it again. Had he been about to deny that his father hit people? Ignis wondered. Instead, Noct said, 'Why?'  
  
'Yesterday, at dinner. Because of what I said.'  
  
'Let me see.'  
  
Ignis turned to look at him directly, staring. He hadn't expected that.  
  
'If it's bad enough you can't even sit down, I want to see.'  
  
'Wait until after the food arrives,' Ignis said, grasping for time, a proper reaction. 'So no one walks in.'  
  
Seeming satisfied with that, Noct turned to his plate. He picked at it, not eating, shifting the rice bit by bit onto his main plate. After Ignis' food was brought up and Ignis took it to the table, he perched awkwardly with one leg folded beneath him and began to eat. Noct didn't stop him, tell him to show him the bruises right away, but started eating as well. Ignis' hunger clawed at him; he managed not to eat too quickly, forcing himself to chew and swallow before his cutlery touched the food again. His stomach clenched but he didn't throw up again.  
  
He wondered if he'd ever get to go back to his old room, or see his uncle. The thought made food wedge in his throat, suddenly too big to swallow. He drank some water, but it didn't help much.  
  
Noct didn't say anything more, just ate, and Ignis ate with him in silence. The food was almost unbearably delicious, he thought. He didn't want to stop eating. Had he really been that hungry? He was finished before Noct, despite being deliberately slow, and Noct silently placed his carrots on Ignis' plate. Ignis ate them. Did Noct want to see the bruises to prove to himself that Regis had hit Ignis, because he didn't trust Ignis' word for it? Or did he want to see for another reason?  
  
Afterwards, Ignis shifted again, aware of the pain getting worse and worse the longer he sat. Thinking about a full day of classes tomorrow made his eyes prickle with frustrated tears. 'Did you still want to see?'  
  
Noct shifted, swivelling in his chair until he was sideways. 'Yeah,' he said.  
  
Somehow, undressing in front of Noct wasn't like the panic of being shirtless in front of Silvia, or the sickening dread like cold, deep mud of being undressed by Regis. He didn't want Noct to see him, his body, because what if he could see exactly what Regis had done to him? What if his hole was different after having a cock shoved into it again and again, and Noct could tell? What if he hadn't cleaned himself properly, and he still had lubricant and semen on his legs? But even if Noct touched him, he didn't think it would be so bad.  
  
Ignis wriggled out of his trousers then paused a second. It would be fine; he'd showered. He'd felt himself, and there hadn't been any blood, and he'd be able to tell if something was very wrong, surely.  
  
And if he did show Noct too much, if there was something that gave away what Regis had done to him – then Noct had to learn it some way or other.  
  
He tugged his underwear down, stepped out from under them, and turned around to face away from Noct.  
  
Noct was silent, completely and utterly. Ignis put his hand on his bum, feeling the heat rise from his skin, the pain from where he touched. He didn't want to look. After a moment, feeling if anything a little stupid, standing as he was in the room with no trousers or underwear on, he got dressed again.  
  
When he turned back he saw that Noct was crying, face crumpled up. His whole body seemed crumpled up – his shoulders hunched, knees brought up to his chest, back curled. Ignis reached out to touch him, run a hand down his back, avoiding his scar, and for a moment – agonisingly long – Noct's body tensed up under his hand. Then he relaxed, going limp and loose, and he turned and reached out.  
  
Ignis caught him, lifted him up off the chair, held him tight in his arms. Noct was sobbing, loud and desperate, clutching at Ignis' shirt as if he were frightened of being dragged away. His face was hot against Ignis' collar bones, tears soaking into Ignis' clothes and wetting his skin.  
  
'It's all right,' Ignis said, and held on. 'I'm here, I'm not going anywhere. It'll be all right, Noct, I promise. I won't let them take me from you. I promise.'  
  


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  
  
  
  
Later, after Ignis had went back to his room for Tristitia's visit, and nodded and looked blank and said everything was fine, he returned to Noct. Noct's door didn't lock from the inside, he saw, and the knowledge made anxiousness creep in his chest.  
  
He took _The Celestial Menagerie_ with him. 'Keep it with you,' he told Noct. 'In your room. I don't want people taking it, if it's in mine.'  
  
'Will they do that?'  
  
'I don't know.'  
  
Noct took the book, looking down at it. It seemed ridiculously large in his small hands, his arms like twigs.  
  
'We can still read it together,' Ignis said, 'whenever I come over. But it'll be safest here.'  
  
'Okay,' Noct said. He held the book close to his chest, hugging it close. 'Okay.'

 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 

 

A week later Ignis opened the door, and stepped aside to let Noct in. His greeting died on his lips; Noct was pale, crying silently.

'I found out what it means,' Noct said, when Ignis had shut the door and held him and wiped his face, carried him over to the sofa where he lay them both, tangled arms and legs.

'It?' he asked, even though he knew what Noct meant, because even if he didn't – couldn't – say anything, he knew Noct would find out what Regis was doing some other way. He knew Noct would hunt down information and never give up, if he thought it would tell him about how his friends were hurting.

'Bonding,' Noct said. 'And all the – all the stuff you have to do–'

'It's fine,' Ignis said, and pressed Noct's head into the crook of his neck. 'It's all right.'

'How? It's not okay, it's – Specs, it's–'

He didn't say what it was, only shoved his face into Ignis' throat.

'Noct, it's fine. I'm omega,' Ignis said. 'It's fine for me.'

'How? It's still...'

'It just is. Noct, do you trust me?' He didn't wait for Noct to confirm, because he already knew the answer. 'Then it's fine.'

Noct didn't reply to that, not demanding further reassurances – and Ignis was glad, because he'd always hated lying to Noct.


	8. Chapter 8

Ignis was thirteen years old and forty-four weeks when he sat down on Regis' cock. He breathed out long and controlled as he adjusted to Regis' girth inside of him; his hands clutched at his thighs as he seated himself fully.  
  
Lying on his back, Regis' head tilted down into the pillows. He groaned and gripped Ignis' waist as Ignis began to roll his hips, lengthening the motion until he was rising and falling, using his thighs to bounce up and down on Regis' cock. The sound of skin on skin, damp and heavy slap-slap-slap, overlaid the sound of his own breathing, rough pants, and the harsh beat of his pulse in his ears. The ache and stretch burnt faintly, pulling and pushing at his insides in a familiar way.  
  
'Ignis,' Regis said, groaned out his name, and his hands gripped Ignis' waist harder, shoved him down harder. 'Gods, yes. Ignis–'  
  
The breath to reply didn't exist. Ignis panted as he moved, up and down, up and down, impaling himself deep and hard. Each time he sat down fully he felt the tip of Regis' cock shove up and hit the top of his cervix, push it up and ram it into the rest of his insides. He felt pounded, a piece of dough being kneaded, picked up and hit against the surface of the counter.  
  
Sweat prickled on his skin. He opened his mouth wider to breath harder, and little broken whines came out on the ends of his exhales, ragged and quiet but still deafening in the otherwise silence of Regis' bedroom. Regis' hips bucked up, at first breaking the rhythm, almost sending Ignis sprawling onto Regis' chest, until Ignis managed to match it and roll his hips, adjust his rise and fall to Regis' thrusts. Regis' hands pawed at his hips, reaching up to his chest, holding him under his armpits. His thumbs pressed Ignis' nipples, rolling, massaging Ignis' swollen, tender chest.  
  
Ignis clutched Regis' wrists – not to pull him away, which wouldn't have worked anyway, but to balance himself when his stomach clenched and arousal started to creep through his body, pulling and tightening wherever it reached. His mouth was fully open, gasping in breath and moaning the air out, high and ragged, raw in his throat.  
  
Regis came with a short, dry shout, a series of short, uneven thrusts up and his hands trembling, fingers tightening and loosening. Inside himself Ignis felt wetness, liquid pour into him, pooling there around the fat head of Regis' cock. He let himself go limp, let Regis roll them over onto their sides, like he always did, and adjust them with his hands until they were lying tight together, Ignis' back to Regis' front. Regis' hips rocked, messy little thrusts as his knot swelled and stuck, pushing at the ring of Ignis' hole, too big to pull out.  
  
Above Ignis' head, Regis' breath slowed, and quietened. His chest, slick with sweat, no longer panted for air. 'Ignis,' he said, voice still rough, unsteady. He ran his hands over Ignis' belly, pressing in his fingertips, searching for evidence of himself inside Ignis. 'Tomorrow, I believe, you're due another contraceptive injection?'  
  
'Yes,' Ignis said, and squirmed as Regis' hand reached down between his legs, fondling his mostly-flaccid cock, then reaching further back to touch the stretched, tight rim of his hole. He stroked his finger across it, pushing just hard enough to make Ignis' hole twitch and squeeze down.  
  
'I've cancelled it,' Regis said. 'You still need to go to the appointment, but don't allow them to give you any contraceptives, if there's a mistake somehow and they try to.'  
  
The words sunk into Ignis like drinking a glass of ice water. 'Oh,' he said, 'of course. Yes.'  
  
He knew it had been coming – of course he had. He'd known from the beginning, from when he stood in the room with his uncle and Regis and their lawyers, listening to them lay out the terms of his becoming Regis' property, Regis' omega bonded. Fourteen had been the age appropriate for childbearing, his uncle had said, two years ago. Those two years he'd had to acclimatise himself to Regis, to what Regis wanted, and the strange, desperate longing Regis held for children other than Noct.  
  
Tristitia had taught Ignis about pregnancy, and the growth of Regis' child inside him, and childbirth. She'd taught him about breastfeeding and weaning, what to expect for newborns, how quickly children grew, how to know they were developing as they should be. She'd taught him about nutrition and all of the supplements he would be taking and what they did. She'd taught him how he couldn't drink or eat anything with caffeine, or eat certain types of fish, or soft cheeses, or raw fish or meat or eggs. He couldn't take hot bathes, or be around cats, or be around people who smoked. He was to stop his training in weapons and gymnastics and self defence, and he couldn't sit in lessons for too long without short breaks in between.  
  
She said it would be easy, and he would be fine if only he maintained a reasonable level of caution, but she also showed him photos of birth defects and miscarriages, and when there weren't photos there were medical diagrams and stories of people who had been through all these things that had ruined their lives, killed their children, destroyed the father's trust in them.  
  
She told him about the pain and the embarrassment, every side effect and ruin it would bring to his body even if he did everything exactly right.  
  
He'd known it. He'd thought about it – had dreams, and nightmares, about it. Regis' announcement was not unexpected, only... Ignis wasn't sure. The settling of judgement on him, perhaps, or the loss of the small hope that had said, _but maybe–_  
  
They lay together as they always did after fucking: Ignis' back to Regis' chest, Regis' cock throbbing in his ass as it pumped him full of come. When Regis pulled out he pressed his fingers into Ignis, massaging the inner ring of his hole, rubbing it until it eased closed from having been gaping open. Regis' fingers were sticky with come and lube when he tugged Ignis over onto his back, and he pressed his face to Ignis' chest. Ignis' breasts, swollen into soft, gentle inclines, not apparent unless he was naked, were tight and full under Regis' searching lips, the scratch of his beard.  
  
'Producing milk makes you infertile,' Regis said, mouthing at Ignis' nipple, holding and pulling at it gently with his lips, giving the tip of it quick little flicks of his tongue. 'I won't be drinking from you any more, so your body will know to stop.' He rolled his tongue around the areola, pressing but not quite hard enough to induce milk to be released. He kissed Ignis' nipple open-mouthed, hot and wet, and the urge to release the pressure in his chest, to lactate, made Ignis arch up under him, trying to push his nipple into Regis' mouth.  
  
'It will be uncomfortable,' Regis said, lifting his head for a moment. 'For a month or so. But it's the easiest and fastest way to stop producing.'  
  
He bit down on Ignis' nipple, chuckling behind his teeth when the pain and sharp pleasure made Ignis gasp, roll his body upwards in a wave, hips and waist and chest. Ignis' cock stirred between his legs, which were still sticky and aching, come and lube leaking out of his arse and smearing on his skin. Regis bit down again and pulled his head back a little to yank on the tender, plush flesh of Ignis' breast. Moaning, light and whimpering, Ignis held his cock in his hands and pushed up with his chest. He didn't stoke himself, or squeeze, or do anything but wrap his fingers around himself. He knew from experience, from sensible rational, that he did not orgasm from attention to his cock. And he didn't want to draw Regis' attention to his less than half-hard arousal.  
  
Ignis knew that he orgasmed from stimulation to his prostate, his nipples, to the feel of himself stretched around a hard, fat cock – that, or any dildo that simulated one. He'd watched videos of omegas – actors pretending to be omega? – sob with arousal at being fucked, knotted, have items of all kinds shoved inside them. He'd watched them come undone, utterly, mewling and begging as they were pounded into the bed, or table, or wall, or whatever surface seemed accessible.  
  
He'd wondered if Regis had wanted him to do the same – if he were lacking as an omega because he didn't. So he'd started to moan when being fucked, and the sounds that had seemed ridiculous and unconvincing over the headphones were oddly natural in bed.  
  
He moaned when Regis lifted his teeth from Ignis' nipple to lap at the swollen, bruised flesh, Ignis clutched at his cock a little harder. His erection, slight to negligible that it had been, was going down. Relieved, Ignis took away his hands, putting them flat on the bed by his hips to keep them out of the way as Regis moved to his other nipple and bit there as well.  
  
He was not, Ignis thought, actually drawing any milk. There were drops of it he licked away, but he didn't latch like he usually did – didn't pull and drink until Ignis' breasts were empty, nipples aching as Regis continued to tug on them even when Ignis had no more to give.  
  
A while later Regis moved up, kissing Ignis' neck where his glands were, tangled up in sensitive ganglia, just beneath the skin. He bit each in turn, making Ignis make a low sound as his body – as it always did, without fail – turned helpless and pliant under Regis' hands. Then he mouthed at the skin, licking at each spot, keeping the bruises he sucked there fresh and hot and purple-red. Ignis trembled beneath him, shuddering in breath after ragged breath. The urge to squirm, to roll away, to lock his legs around Regis' hips and grind up against him, all clashed and all came to nothing, because he couldn't move no matter what he wanted.  
  
Regis said it was to reaffirm their bond; Ignis whimpered as he felt his body become disjointed and useless under Regis' lips and teeth, kitten-weak.  
  
When Regis kissed his mouth, beard scraping the soft skin around Ignis' lips, Ignis was panting, sobbing little moans on each breath. He opened his mouth wider for Regis' tongue pressing against his, and tried to lift his chin to make breathing through his nose a little easier.  
  
Later, as they lay side by side, Regis propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Ignis. He laid a hand on Ignis' belly.  
  
'The Astrals have been good to me, for once,' he said, and smiled – a humourless quirk of his lips. 'If they bless me with a child – Ignis, tell me you'll get pregnant for me. Get pregnant quickly and bear me a healthy child.'  
  
Ignis looked up at him, caught in his dark grey eyes. He didn't have an answer, the words lost in the bottom of his lungs. Then Regis reached across him to roll him over, onto his front, his hands pushing at him and spreading his legs wide.  
  
Breasts full of milk, having had no reprieve, Ignis squirmed as his chest was pushed into the mattress and his hips lifted up. He felt squashed down, tightness and pressure inside him, making him gasp. His hole was already slack from last time, and Regis wasted no time before pushing himself right in, seating himself fully, the tip of his cock hitting the innermost part of Ignis' cervix. Ignis groaned, feeling like the air was being punched out of his lungs as Regis gripped his hips and began thrusting.  
  
Letting go of Ignis' hips, Regis leant forwards heavily, propping himself on one hand, covering Ignis' body with his own. His hand returned to Ignis' belly, pressing down to hold its place there as he thrust.  
  
'I want to fill you with children,' Regis said, cock pounding into Ignis, hitting him again and again, his hips and thighs shoving Ignis forwards onto his face, squashing his chest. 'Swollen until you think you'll burst, lying on your back in bed when you can't even stand without help. Breasts so full they leak, plump and tender–'  
  
He panted, groaned, pressed his hand tighter until Ignis' hips were forced up, his back arching. 'Just think of how big you'll be, how massive your distended belly will become,' he said. 'My child inside you – and birthed, growing, feeding from you, suckling your fat, swollen teats–'  
  
Beneath him, trying to push his hands into the mattress to lift his face and chest, Ignis stuttered a moan. The stretch and burn in his hole, forcing him wide open to accept whatever Regis gave him – the hard friction inside him, the pounding deep against his organs, filling his whole body with the reverberations of it. His fingers barely had the strength to grasp at the silk sheets; his arms trembled to hold him even an inch from the bed. He rocked with each hard thrust, forced face-down, grinding against the tender swell of his breasts.  
  
Regis' fingers clenched, squeezing the flat plane of his stomach. 'You're perfect, Ignis,' he said, hoarse, breathless. 'I don't know what I'd do without you. I can't bear to think of the world without you. Coming home to you, your body, is the only thing sometimes–'  
  
He came, words stumbling to a halt, and Ignis felt the wet spurting of his come deep inside him. He was half-hard again, he realised dimly, the throb of his own cock secondary to the throb of Regis' cock in his arse, Regis' come within him, his knot swelling to keep everything together inside of him.  
  
As they lay down together, Ignis' heart started to slow, his cock softening. Regis petted his stomach, his chest, squeezing his nipples and palming the gentle rise of his swollen breasts.  
  
'The Astrals will take what they can from you,' Regis said. 'They'll take everything if you let them.'  
  
Ignis shifted, feeling the gentle tug of Regis' knot at his hole.  
  
'I won't let them. Ignis, I won't let them; not you, not Noct.'  
  
He caught his breath, sudden – he hadn't meant to say that, Ignis thought, eyes tight closed. Not that he knew what Regis had meant anyway.  
  
The thought of Noct made him itch, tremble, and he shoved it away. He didn't want to do that now. He could, and would, be both good as omega and Noct's friend and advisor. He pushed his hips back, forcing the knot that much deeper into him. His hole clenched around the base of Regis' cock.  
  
The thought of pregnancy – bloated with children, sickness, his balance gone, his diet even more strict than it currently was. A baby latching on to his nipple, rather than Regis. Childbirth, being impregnated again and again.  
  
He would be the perfect omega for Regis. He would do whatever Regis wanted him to. He did not allow himself to think of Noct.  
  
At least – not now. Not in Regis' bed.  
  


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  
  
  
  
Sitting in the bathtub, Ignis heard the door to his rooms open and close. Then the bathroom door opened and Noct slid in, coming over to slouch down lean on the side of the bath. His eyes tracked over Ignis, from his wet hair over the bruises on his neck, his swollen chest, his hips, between his legs, down to his feet. 'Hey,' he said, and Ignis smiled back.  
  
'Good evening, Noct,' he said.  
  
Noct reached over, running his hand down Ignis' neck, rubbing at the bruises with his thumb, as if he could wipe them away. Then he let his hand drift down and press lightly over Ignis' right breast. A bead of milk pearled at Ignis' nipple.  
  
'Is that meant to happen?' he asked, brow furrowed. 'Ignis?'  
  
Ignis didn't move away as Noct pinched his nipple gently, pushing down on the areola with his delicate fingers. More milk seeped out, and ran in a trail down Ignis' chest until it dispersed itself in the bathwater.  
  
'He's going to want to get me pregnant,' Ignis said, and felt the small jolt of Noct's hand on his breast as Noct flinched. 'I can't do that if I'm lactating. And I'll only stop lactating if he stops drinking.'  
  
'Oh,' Noct said. He let go of Ignis' nipple to spread his whole hand across Ignis' breast, pushing down against it. 'Won't that hurt? Will it just leak out until it stops? If it has nowhere to go.'  
  
'It doesn't hurt,' Ignis said, which was true – it was uncomfortable, and occasionally sore, but it never really hurt. Not really. 'I hope it doesn't leak. That would be embarrassing. I don't think most people know.'  
  
'Feels hard,' Noct said, then took away his hand and rocked back on his heels. He stood, starting to get undressed even before he was fully upright, kicking off his clothes into the corner of the room until he was naked. He clambered into the bath with Ignis, on his knees, facing him.  
  
'You should at least try to fold them,' Ignis said, as he sat up a bit so Noct could lie on his front, pressing chest to chest.  
  
'Whatever,' Noct said, and looped his arms around Ignis' waist. His lips were on the bruise on the left side of Ignis' neck. 'So you're going to get pregnant?'  
  
'Yes. I think so, soon. When I'm fourteen. That's when the doctors say it'll be okay, and I'm old enough.'  
  
A pause. 'It'll be our kid,' Noct said. 'It's basically our kid, right?'  
  
'I – it'll be your half-brother.'  
  
'No, I mean,' Noct said, and made a noise of frustration. 'You're mine, so it's ours.'  
  
'Oh,' Ignis said. 'Yeah. Yes. Then it'll be ours.'  
  
'Good,' Noct said, then wriggled down a bit and pressed his lips to Ignis' chest. He dipped his head and licked over Ignis' nipple, gently, his pink tongue wet and hot and soft. Ignis' bent legs, on either side of Noct's waist, squeezed Noct and held him in place as he opened his mouth and started to drink. His throat bobbed, his cheeks hollowing as he drew out mouthfuls of Ignis' milk.  
  
'Not too much,' Ignis said, a little breathless. 'I need it to stop or your father will get suspicious. And it won't stop if you keep drinking like that.'  
  
Noct made a sound – a grumble – and it vibrated through Ignis' chest. Ignis leant down and pressed his face to the top of Noct's head, hair slightly damp, soft and dark.  
  
Reluctantly, Noct pulled away, only to move and go straight to Ignis' other breast.  
  
He was small, bony and cool against Ignis' skin. The scar on his back had continued to heal ever since he'd got back from Tenebrae, though it had already done its damage – taking Noct's childish joy, his ease at magic, his old governess, Juliette. Now the skin around it was flushed in the hot water, making the difference between it and the normal skin around it obvious again.  
  
Ignis traced the edges of it, just gently, with his fingertips. 'Noct,' he said with a sigh, and moaned and arched his back as Noct tugged on his nipple.  
  
He pushed Noct off after another moment, even though he could tell he was still full and going to be aching with it in another few hours. Noct didn't complain, though, only licked his lips and relaxed down into the water. Ignis let him soak, stroking his skin and letting his mind go carefully, blissfully blank, until he realised Noct had fallen asleep in his lap. Smiling, and hiding his smile before shaking Noct away, Ignis drained the bath and heaved Noct into standing so he could rinse the both of them off under the shower. Noct grumbled to be awake as Ignis scrubbed him down.  
  
'It's your birthday soon,' Noct said, later, as he sat with his towel wrapped loose around himself and watch Ignis rub moisturiser into his legs.  
  
'Two months,' Ignis said, wiping the excess off on his hips and reaching for his clothes. 'That's not very soon.'  
  
'What did you wanna do?'  
  
Ignis looked at Noct, hands slowing as they pulled his shirt over his shoulders. 'I don't know. Didn't have any plans,' he said. 'Do you?'  
  
Noct grinned. 'Just thinking,' he said. 'If you're gonna get pregnant soon then you're not going to be able to do anything, right?'  
  
'Mm.'  
  
Noct's grin faltered, then he carried on. 'Gladio said it's not impossible to get out of Insomnia. Not even illegally, I mean.'  
  
Ignis stopped abruptly, his hands still on the buttons of his shirt. Then he looked down at Noct. 'I'm not sure,' he said. 'I don't think–'  
  
'We could see the stars,' Noct said, in a rush. 'It's not like we could go all the way to Tenebrae but even just outside Insomnia, outside the Wall–'  
  
He dropped off, his words all shoving into each other until they finally collapsed, fell down, and he had to stop. 'I just,' he said, quieter, and looked down at the floor. Ignis continued getting changed, pulling on his soft black home clothes. 'I just thought it'd be good. Before you couldn't get out any more.'  
  
Ignis swallowed down the ache in his throat. 'Noct,' he said, and knelt in front of him. He took Noct's towel and started to dry him with it, rubbing it up and down his arms, his chest, his legs. 'I want that – more than anything. But I don't think we'll be allowed. Even with guards, and only going out to the nearest haven or town, and Regis knowing exactly where we are at all times. I don't... I don't think he'll let us.'  
  
Noct's mouth narrowed, thinning, and pulled itself into a shaky smile. 'Yeah,' he said. 'Sure. It was a stupid thought anyway. Never mind.'  
  
It was Noct, more than anyone, who ought to irrationally fear the world outside Insomnia, Ignis thought. He carried on drying Noct, dragging the towel up to rest on his damp hair. 'We'll ask,' he said, firmly. 'I'm sure we can – we can do something. He's cautious but he's not... not irrational.'  
  
Noct laughed, short and unpleasant, as he lifted his legs to let Ignis slip his underwear over his legs. 'Sure,' he said. 'I mean, if you think so.'  
  
'I think so,' Ignis said, then, 'up.' Noct obediently lifted himself, pushing up with his hands to let Ignis pull his underwear up over his hips.  
  
'And if not,' Ignis said, 'there'll be other chances. I won't be pregnant forever.'  
  
He would have a small child for years after getting pregnant, though, he thought. And maybe when it got old enough to be left behind he'd only get pregnant again, and again. Maybe the war with Niflheim would only get worse, and it would become unsafe even to be right outside Insomnia, not even on mainland Lucis.  
  
'Yeah,' Noct said. 'Okay.'  
  
He smiled tentatively, peeking out from under the flattened strands of his hair, and the towel where it had flopped over his face. Ignis smiled back, doing up the buttons of his shirt.  
  
'The stars, though,' Ignis said. 'Tell me about them.'

Noct laughed. 'C'mon, you know way more than I do. You know that book word for word.'  
  
'But you've seen them, and you also know the book,' Ignis said. 'So tell me about them.'

Noct's eyes were bright, and beautiful. 'Sure,' he said.


End file.
